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y CAMP 
CASTAWAY 


BY 

CHARLES CLARK MUNN 

AUTHOR OF “UNCLE TERRY,” “ROCKHAVEN,” 
“THE GIRL FROM TIM’S PLACE, ’’ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 
W. J. SHETTSLINE, Jb. 


/ 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1916 

a,isl 




Copyright, 1916, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


/ 


Printed in the Vnited States of America 


TO MY YOUNG FRIENDS 


Once upon a time I was a boy and like most boys I 
built wildwood air castles, chief of which was a log 
cabin beside a sequestered lake where fish and game were 
plenty. Here in that idyllic home I planned to abide 
when manhood was reached and live the true life of a 
noble redman with birch canoe, my rod and gun, and a 
few kindred mates for companions. And the trout we 
caught, the game we killed and fur animals we trapped 
in this sportsman’s Elysium, were beyond even dreams. 

Since then I have journeyed by canoe many times 
through a vast, primal wilderness and have camped and 
lived for months in a bark or log cabin beside many a 
sequestered lake where man came not but only the Eter- 
nal Presence was in hiding. Where deer strolled un- 
afraid along rippled shores and trout leaped out to greet 
the morning sun. And so charming were those romantic 
days; so restful and soul inspiring that wildwood life 
with all its craft, and so many times have I lived those 
quiet perfect days over amid the strife of life, that I 
wish all my friends to now join me in this book. 


CHARLES CLARK MUNN. 












- 










K 


















“Then, with teeth shut hard, Old Renus 

frail cedar stem * ” 


. . grasped that 


[Page 264 j 








LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

“Then, with teeth shut hard, Old Renus . . . grasped that 
frail cedar stem” Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

“By a miracle . . . they had landed on the shore of a 
sequestered lake ” 26 

“He wheeled, and grasping his rifle, sent a bullet through its 
head” 234 

“‘Kin ye guess what that is, Orlo?’” 252 


I 





CAMP CASTAWAY 


CHAPTER I 

F OR most of that bright September day Orlo 
and his two cronies, Jim and Levi, had 
seen and thought only of a captive balloon 
they found to he one of the attractions of the 
Goshen County cattle show. They spied it upon 
their arrival, just rising aloft from a roped-in en- 
closure at the far end of the grounds and being 
the first one they had ever seen, rushed pell-mell 
to that corner to stand agape and watch the big 
yellow bag with four people in its wicker basket, 
rise slowly upward. 

“Gee whiz, but that must be great !” exclaimed 
Orlo. 

“Must be up higher’n Pilot Knob now,” Jim 
added. 

“’Course ’tis,” sneered Levi, prone to sarcasm. 
“Pilot Knob ain’t a primin’ to that ! It’s up most 
a mile already !” 

Then all three watched in breathless suspense 
that now barrel-sized balloon swaying at the end 


l 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of its tethering rope. Soon the clank of a wind- 
lass turned by two men beside the enclosure was 
heard and three pairs of eager eyes followed that 
captive air craft back to earth again. Two cou- 
ples among the score in waiting, next paid their 
fifty cents each and climbed down into the basket 
from a little platform. Then with shouts of de- 
light and waving of handkerchiefs up they went, 
watched enviously by the boys this time. And 
their exclamations of “Wonderful! Sublime!” 
and the like on returning, only made the three 
glum watchers the more disconsolate. 

“It's awful to be poor,” asserted Orlo lugubri- 
ously after two more ascensions had been made, 
for the fact was his pocket money amounted to 
just fifty-seven cents, and the midday treat, a 
steaming oyster stew, long anticipated, would cost 
a quarter. 

“Let’s go see something else,” advised Jim, 
who had a vein of philosophy. “I hain’t but forty- 
two cents ’n’ it’s no use longin’ to go up in that 
balloon.” 

They left that alluring corner with gloomy 
faces. 

But the fair attractions they had looked for- 
ward to for so many weeks now appeared to have 
vanished. The row of tents containing the living 
skeleton, the bearded lady and kindred curiosities, 


2 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


held no charm for them. The long building where 
huge pumpkins and prize vegetables were on show 
were not even peeped into. They were quite used 
to such things. Even monster pigs and fat oxen 
were equally lacking in interest. Only that beau- 
tiful and alluring balloon which kept going up 
and coming down with persistent and most vexa- 
tious regularity, held them spellbound. 

When noon came, the oyster stew and a bag of 
ginger cookies were invested in, together with a 
big orange; and still later, when the grandstand 
began to fill, the boys lined up alongside the trot- 
ting track to watch the racing. But even this 
seemed tame. 

For a half-hour more they watched the scoring 
and races, but so far away from the finish line 
they could not tell which horse won, in fact, they 
did not care much. Turning away they noticed 
that their beautiful balloon was not rising now 
and there was no crowd about it. Clearly this 
must be looked into, and with that, a faint hope 
came that its manager might be persuaded to take 
them up a little way for what was left of their 
combined pocket money, about thirty cents. As 
they pushed their way out of the crowd along- 
side the track, who should they meet but Old 
Kenus ! 

Now this nondescript old trapper and hunter, 


3 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


who lived a hermit’s life in one room of a long 
disused house, a half mile from their homes, had 
for six years been their mentor and hero, and his 
way of existence, an ideal one, they some day 
meant to follow. He had been their tutor in all 
wood lore, in catching fish, in snaring and trap- 
ping all game and fur-bearing animals. They had 
enjoyed many a charming autumn evening in front 
of his open fire, listening to wildwood tales, while 
eating the nuts and apples he provided. So as 
the years went on this fine old woodsman had be- 
come far dearer than all their other friends. 

“Wal, boys,” he said, now smiling benignly 
down at them, “havin’ a good time, be ye? Seen 
the snake charmer ’n’ wild man o’ Borneo, hev 
ye?” 

“No, we haven’t and don’t much care to,” grunt- 
ed Orlo, who usually spoke for the other two. 
“But we wanted to go up in the balloon and can’t. 
We haven’t money enough.” 

“Wal, that’s too bad,” answered the old man 
sympathetically, “but I wouldn’t let a thing like 
that spile the hull day, boys. Let’s go take a look 
at the balloon ’n’ see if it’s safe to go up in. I 
kinder figgered it wan’t.” Then he led the way 
over to the roped enclosure. 

Then the three glowing-faced boys felt like 
dancing for very joy, for it seemed as if their 


4 


CAME CASTAWAY 


splendid old hero might open his heart and pocket- 
book and pay for the treat they longed for. 

The great silk bag was held to earth by a half- 
inch rope. He looked it over with critical eyes, 
felt of its light wicker basket with thick board 
bottom, stooped to examine how the rope was fas- 
tened to it, peeped at the windlass with its long 
cylinder abont which the rope was wound. Then 
he accosted the man in charge. 

“How’s the rope fastened at the bottom end, 
Mister V 9 he asked cautiously. “Any danger o’ 
it’s givin’ away thar?” 

“Not a particle,” came the assuring answer. 
“We look out for that. We don’t mean to lose 
our balloon. Take a trip up, sir, your boys will 
enjoy it immensely. As the crowds are at the 
races, you can stay up a little time extra.” Thus 
satisfied and persuaded, Old Renus counted out 
two dollars in change, the wildly excited boys 
vaulted into the basket, their old hero followed, 
and soon the balloon shot upward. 

Then what joy supreme came to those three 
lads! Never before had they seen or felt any- 
thing like it! Soon the crowd around the race 
track merged into a black rim and the speeding 
horses appeared like squirrels. The broad ex- 
panse of meadow, pasture and bits of forest lay 
below like a wondrous carpet crossed by faint 


5 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


lines of roadway. Here and there a lake or pond 
glistened bright in the afternoon sun and so en- 
raptured were those boys, they conld scarcely 
speak or breathe, they conld only stare down at 
the wondrous panorama. 

Now Orlo could faintly discern the outlines of 
his own farm home — the house, a tiny white spot 
between two patches of green with a larger brown 
barn separated from it by what seemed like a 
long gray cord. Close by, a flashing triangle, he 
knew was the old mill pond, and winding away 
from that the white thread of Mizzy Brook. Just 
then, as the boys were deeply absorbed in this 
faint landscape, there came a sharp jolt to the 
basket and the balloon shot skyward! The very 
thing Old Renus feared, had happened! 

The balloon, lightly loaded and rising rapidly, 
had broken its tethering rope away at the foot. 

“My God! boys, we’ve gone loose sure’s a gun!” 
Old Renus exclaimed in horrified tones. “ ’N’ the 
Lord only knows what’ll happen next !” 

The three boys then dropped from almost 
breathless joy to abject fear; they cringed, too, 
at the horror of shooting up into space, and clung 
to Old Renus as if he could save them. They 
dared not even look over the basket rim now. 
They could only clasp his legs in shivering fear. 

“No use in gettin’ too skeered, boys,” the old 


6 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


man cautioned, recovering his own composure a 
little. “We may go up whar it’s middlin’ cold I 
callate, but we’ll come down som’ers. The gas 
is sure to ’scape little at a time’n let us down, 
so cheer up! We’re goin’ to live to tell o’ this 
yit.” 

“We got an anchor out too,” he added a moment 
later, after peeping over the basket. “I kin see 
a bit o’ wood danglin’ at the end o’ our rope.” 
The boys, now squatted on the bottom of the bas- 
ket and still clinging to his legs, took heart, but 
they dared not look over the side. 

“We’er headin’ north ’n’ goin’ like mad,” Old 
Renus next announced, peeping over again. “I 
kin just make out the earth ’n’ a shinin’ spot 
which must be a lake.” 

A new sensation came now for the balloon en- 
tered a bank of fog and shut the sun and dark 
earth from view. It grew suddenly colder also. 
The boys shivered in their summer raiment as 
did Old Renus wearing only a coat over his gray 
shirt. By animal instinct, he crouched low him- 
self and the boys clung close to one another. Then 
on and on they sped with that chill fog enveloping 
them for a half-hour. 

“I’m most froze,” whimpered Levi, the least 
courageous of the three, at this juncture. 

“Whip your arms, boys, all on us,” Old Renus 


7 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


next advised. “We got to do it now to keep alive,” 
and with that he began to swing his arms. 

But it was a sad and sorry spectacle those four 
now made, facing out whipping their arms across 
their chests, the only way they could keep blood 
circulating. Their ears were stinging from the 
bitter cold. Their courage was nearly vanishing 
and with reason. Totally unused to such an ex- 
perience, they did not dare to let the gas out of 
the balloon. 

It was pitiful also to Old Renus to have those 
he loved watch his tense face so appealingly when 
the arm thrashing ceased a moment. A grim fear 
also came to him, that after sunset it was sure 
to grow much colder and he knew full well only 
the most violent exertion would keep them all 
from freezing in that bitterly cold air, made worse 
by the freezing fog. He blamed himself too for 
the scrape they were in. He was slowly losing 
hope for he was conscious that they were now 
miles up. The gasping for breath and the thump- 
ing of their hearts from the rarified air, told him 
that to go much higher meant sure death. But 
this he must not let them know. 

One critical and tragic moment came soon, how- 
ever, and with it a new, ghastly fear and drowsy 
feeling to old Renus. Once before in the far north 
when he had lost consciousness and sleep meant 


8 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


death, he had been saved by a younger companion 
who heat and pounded him to waken life. But no 
strong friend was with him now. Only these boys, 
moaning and crying in an agony of fear ! To live 
for them came next as an inspiration, and with 
it the faint hope he might fight oft the deathly 
torpor until the balloon plunged down into warm- 
er air again. 

“Keep me awake, boys, for God’s sake ’n’ your 
own,” he gasped faintly, now sinking down into 
the basket. 

“Pound me hard, Orlo, ’n’ don’t let up. Pm 
gettin’ sleepy ’n’ it means — means death to me. 
Pve got to save ye, boy, fer — fer your mother.” 

Orlo, though not at all understanding this last 
heart call, did so. With one arm around his old 
hero’s neck he began beating and pounding his 
breast and slapping his face while Jim and Levi, 
equally scared, added their fists to the saving 
work. 

“Keep it up, boys, don’t stop. I’m awake yit,” 
came pleadingly again from the freezing one. 
“Even hurt me if ye kin, boys, it’ll save my 
life.” 

Beat and slap him they now did in anxious and 
deathly fear, for a long ten minutes. Then some- 
thing else happened meaning life for all of them, 
for a down sweeping current of air drew them 


2 


9 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


earthward until the drowsy one felt the warming 
air and woke again. 

“We’re goin’ down, boys,” he whispered, rous- 
ing up, “ ’n’ we’re goin’ to be saved. I kin tell it 
by the air.” Soon also a cheering sight appeared 
below, as down through the enveloping bank of 
frozen fog they plunged, and that was the round, 
red sun, close to the horizon line, and far, far be- 
low, a broad, shining river ! 

“It’s the St. Lawrence, boys, ’n’ we’re still goin’ 
north,” Old Renus shouted. “But we’re nearin’ 
the earth and it’s growin’ warmer every minute ! 
Hooray ! Hooray !” 

And sure enough it was ! 

But night and darkness was upon them, yet 
hope grew brighter with the warming air. It did 
not take much to cheer those boys after what they 
had passed through, and so quick an uplift came 
at what they saw in the face of Old Renus, that 
tears of thankfulness welled out of their eyes. 

“We’re goin’ to be saved ain’t we Uncle 
Renus?” Orlo next whispered. 

“Sure we are, Orlo, sure’s a gun,” came the con- 
fident answer. “We’re lowerin’ fast, now. Fust 
we know we’ll be caught by some tree ’n’ next to 
Mother Earth once more. ’N’ then it’s hooray for 
us !” 

But the earth was no longer visible. Only the 


10 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


stars above, and they were still speeding onward. 
Though chilled, they no longer needed the arm 
whipping, but clinging close together like a human 
ball, they kept warm. 

Now, to cheer them, Old Renus began telling 
stories. And wonderful ones they were too. Of 
streams he had found in a far-off wilderness so 
full of trout they would snap at a bare hook. Of 
lakes no human being had visited where deer 
were so tame they stood on sandy shores and 
watched him, quite unafraid. Of reed-filled lakes, 
where wild ducks were legion, and many more 
marvelous tales and wondrous finds that only an 
Old Renus could evolve, while on and on they 
sped. 

Sometime midway of that strange, eerie, sol- 
emn, and silent night, with only the stars above 
visible, there came a yank at their wicker basket, 
another and still another ; the basket canted slowly 
more and more, until peering down, Old Renus 
saw the gleam of a narrow, sandy lake shore, and 
just beyond, stars reflected from motionless, 
water ! 

More wonderful also and from close at hand 
came the low musical tinkle of a brook. 


CHAPTER II 


T HE advent of such a nondescript as Old 
Renus in Oakham became not only a nine 
days’ wonder but an unsolved mystery. 
He appeared one May afternoon from no one 
knew where, garbed almost as a hobo, and carrying 
a pack and rifle ; entering Phinney’s general store 
and post-office, he bought a piece of bacon, a loaf 
of bread and other simple supplies, also a few 
ordinary cooking utensils and tin table ware, and 
then vanished, leaving Squire Phinney and two of 
the Old Guard, loafers on watch there, agape 
with astonishment. 

“Wal, if that ain’t an ornery, grumpy specimen 
o’ humanity, I never seen one,” the former ejacu- 
lated* after watching Old Renus leave the main 
street and head for a wooded upland back of the 
village. “Couldn’t git a word outer him nohow, 
’cept ‘I want so ’n’ so ’n’ how much is it.’ I tried 
hard to start him talkin’ too. Said ‘ be ye a trap- 
per if I might ask,’ as I was doin’ up his things, 


12 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


but all the answer I got war, Tie ’em with a lettle 
heavier string, mister, if ye kin’.’ He seemed to 
hev plenty o’ money howsomever, fer he fished a 
roll o’ bills out ’n’ peeled a five off to pay with. 
‘Travelin’ fur be ye,’ I next asked, handin’ him 
the change. ‘Oh, jest a spell,’ he sorter grinned 
back ’n’ that’s all I cud pump out.” 

“Must be a trapper then,” Lem Bishop, one of 
the Old Guard returned, cutting off a fresh quid 
to calm his excitement. “But what’s one o’ them 
sort doin’ here now? ’Taint trappin’ season, sides 
thar ain’t nothin’ much to ketch ’round here ’cept 
a few musquash ’n’ now ’n’ then a mink up in 
Mizzy Swamp.” 

“Callate he’s goin’ to camp ’round here, do ye 
Squire?” the second Old Guard queried. “If so, 
I reckon we all best count up our chickens.” And 
those comments were merely the first ripples of 
the wave of astonishment that swept over Oak- 
ham after the arrival of this queer, quaint, old 
fellow who came wearing patched raiment, and 
needing a hair-cut. He parried all questions as 
to his identity and plans except that his name 
was Irenus Thorp and, as he admitted, “A sorter 
no account, rollin’ stone who jest happened to 
fetch up here ’n’ meant no harm to nobody.” It 
soon developed that he had found shelter in an 
abandoned house known as the old Crowell Place, 


13 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


on a byroad a mile from the village, and beside a 
stream, and that he had at once sought its owner 
Jason Crowell, to pay the rent of twenty dollars 
pen annum. Furthermore, he had bought an ax, 
a saw, hammer and nails, and set about making 
a unique home by fitting one room with a bunk, 
table, benches, and window sashes in three win- 
dows that had been wide open for a generation. 
Meantime, and as more evidence of his domestic 
intentions, he cleared, spaded and planted the 
bush-choked garden, fencing it with an ample 
supply of weather-beaten boards taken from the 
old rookery, built a low porch over his door and 
a short piazza in front and patched the few holes 
in this “den” with shingles from the partly fallen 
roof. More amazing than all this, however, was 
the almost unbelievable fact that he had, two 
days after his arrival, deposited five hundred dol- 
lars in the village savings bank ! 

At first he was watched furtively by the Old 
Guard when he appeared at Phinney’s store to 
buy various supplies, tools, etc., including a sec- 
ond-hand cook stove, a few white ware dishes, 
earthen crocks and the like; while Phinney, an 
amiable, if inquisitive Yankee tried his best to 
draw out this queer old fellow but failed lament- 
ably. The village boys just now busy at planting 
were even more curious as to the plans and future 


14 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of Old Reims — as lie soon came to be called — 
than their elders. Likewise more sympathetic, 
for, heralded as a probable trapper, his prospec- 
tive mode of existence appealed to them at once. 
Planting, hoeing, turning “grin’s tun’, ” and hay- 
ing, interspersed with countless chores with an 
occasional afternoon’s fishing — seemed a hard, 
prosy lot. While to live as Old Renns planned, 
would be ideal. 

Jim and Levi Pratt and Orlo Upson — the only 
son of a widow — whose homes lay not far apart 
and about midway between the village and his old 
rookery, with half a dozen other boys, would 
meet after chores and scamper across lots to a 
hilltop above, to watch this tumble-down old 
house, formerly inhabited by bats. It had always 
seemed an uncanny spot to them, and its bare 
rafters kin to the ribs of a giant skeleton, while 
the two oval panes above its front door facing 
west, oft blinked at sunset like the eyes of a 
demon. How long the house had thus stood an 
uncanny ruin, the boys did not know. Long 
enough for its bared timbers to be bleached gray 
and its open windows to grin through the bushes. 

But now a marvel was in process of develop- 
ment for them. A wonderful and woodwise old 
trapper and hunter had come to abide here. 
Probably he would follow his calling as soon as 


15 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


his new home was made ready, and he might be 
willing to show them where better fishing could 
be found, or more glorious still, take them along 
on a coon hunt when autumn came. And so the 
possibilities of Old Eenus multiplied in their 
minds as they watched him at a distance. 

Among the Old Guard, and the score of farm- 
ers that made up the village proper, that bank 
account became a passport to confidence in his 
honesty at least, and by the time he had made 
his one room habitable, he threw off his trapper 
disguise, so to speak, by a visit to the village bar- 
ber, and by donning a respectable, gray suit, and 
a decent hat bought at Phinney’s store. But Old 
Eenus did not abate his reticence one iota. He 
was civil and polite so far as any business ex- 
change went, and would even comment on the 
weather or crop prospects when at the village 
store. But if questioned about his past, or of his 
future plans, he shut up like a clam. The riddle 
of his mysterious advent, therefore, remained un- 
solved. 

During the first week — as the Old Guard found 
out, he had been working from daylight until dark 
upon his one room home, or in the garden, but 
the stream known as Mizzy Brook that wound its 
cascading way through the village was prolific of 
trout and it was thought, would surely tempt such 


16 


CAMP. CASTAWAY 


an old woodsman; in fact two of the Old Guard 
had made small bets with Phinney that when 
Sunday came he would be seen fishing on it. 

But they lost, Old Renus thereby making a 
great advance toward the good will and respect 
of Oakham. 

The acquaintance between Orlo, his two cronies 
and the old man, began unexpectedly and through 
Orlo alone. So far none of the boys had dared 
to accost this keen-eyed, bushy-browed, strong- 
faced old woodsman; they could only watch him 
furtively when the chance came in the village. 
He made no overtures to them beyond a kindly 
smile. But the third Saturday afternoon after 
his arrival, Orlo, then eight years old, obtaining 
his mother’s permission, filled his spice box with 
good worms, and, alder pole in hand, ran a full 
mile to a branch of the Mizzy above the Crowell 
Place to begin a joyous four hours of prime 
sport. He met mishap however almost at the 
start, for, catching his hook on a high limb he 
climbed to free it; the limb broke, and Orlo landed 
upon the rocks below with a bruised knee and 
badly wrenched ankle, whereupon he proceeded to 
emit a few yells of trouble. 

Just then Old Renus, who started fishing above 
came along fortunately, like a good Samaritan. 

“Don’t ye cry boy,” he said soothingly, feeling 


17 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


the injured leg. “Ye haint broke no bones 
’n’ I’ll fix the pain in no time.” This he did in his 
wise way by putting pads of moss on both knee 
and swollen ankle and bathing them in the almost 
ice cold water for a long half-hour; meantime 
telling Orlo how he had watched a mink from am- 
bush just above, how that sly animal had slid into 
a deep pool to emerge with a quarter pound trout 
to feed its young, until Orlo forgot his pain, and 
was only thankful he had thus made the friend 
he wanted. Later, this rough but gentle nurse 
shouldered the boy and carried him to his own 
gate, and further to console him, gave him the« 
string of trout he himself had caught. Then he 
departed hurriedly. 

This seemed strange to Orlo, but he felt that 
this mishap had opened the way to a further ac- 
quaintance, and possibly to many chances for fish- 
ing and trapping later on. He wondered a little 
why Old Kenus had given him the trout, and why 
his mother seemed more interested in what this 
old fellow had said to him than in the accident 
itself. 

When Sunday evening came and chores done, 
Orlo, fortified by Jim and Levi, made haste to 
call upon this quaint woodsman and was aston- 
ished at finding how secure and comfortable a 
room he had fitted up in the old ruin. The floor, 


18 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


once warped and rotten, had been laid anew with 
smooth planed boards, the walls ceiled np, a 
bright chintz curtain enclosed his bunk in one 
corner, a shiny oilcloth covered an oblong table, 
a cupboard closet held an array of tinware and 
dishes, his old stove near the fireplace glistened, 
a pair of iron fire-dogs with brass knobs held a 
load of white birchwood, snowy scrim curtains 
draped the windows, while two rustic chairs stood 
on the short porch. Most surprising of all, a 
glass vase of buttercups and daisies smiled on the 
table. 

“Mighty glad to see ye boys, I am,” Old Renus 
welcomed them cheerily, leading the way into this 
surprising “den” and watching them look around. 
“Fact is I never hed a home o’ my own afore 
’cept mebbe a log cabin or two in the woods. ‘N* 
I didn’t quite callate on this till I started in, only 
to fix up a shelter when it stormed ’n’ to sleep 
in. But when I got the windows in they sorter 
seemed to call fer curtains ‘n’ the bunk kinder 
said it needed hidin’ hi’ the new floor told me I 
must shine up the stove. That’s the way o’ home 
makin’ boys. Once start ’n’ thar’s no end to the 
things ye want.” 

“And now you going to live here mister?” Orlo 
asked eagerly. 

“Wal, mebbe one winter to see how I like it,” 


19 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


came the smiling answer. “Mebbe I’ll git oneasy 
by then ’n’ start off once more.” 

“Be you a trapper fer a living f” Jim next asked 
more boldly. “Folks said you were. I know 
where ye can catch mus’rats, lots on em,” he con- 
tinued hurriedly, as if this man needed pacifying. 
“Orlo and I caught ten last fall, and he got a mink 
too.” 

“And we had a fox eat up one mus’rat,” Levi 
added anxiously. “We come onto him doin’ it.” 
Then the old trapper glanced down into the three 
eager faces watching him and began to laugh. 

“I kin see I’ve found friends,” he said, ’n’ 
mebbe we’ll hev a lot o’ fun when trappin’ time 
comes. Mebbe we’ll hev some ’fore that too. Wait 
till I hev a chance to look ’round.” And that smil- 
ing exchange was the beginning of a kinship, a 
boon comradeship between this wise old woods- 
man and those three boys, who remained to sit 
upon his small piazza for hours being so enthralled 
by his marvelous stories that they lost all con- 
sciousness of time. Never before in their lives 
had they met one so quaint of speech, so wise in 
woodlore, so full to the brim with wildwood 
stories. And the. range they covered was equally 
marvelous, for there was not one wild animal on 
the North American continent they had ever read 
about, he had not met and captured. He was 


20 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


also familiar with the various tribes of Indians 
in the far west, together with most of its moun- 
tains, lakes and cataracts. To them, whose hori- 
zon had been bordered by the low ranges around 
Oakham, such a marvelous man, even if he wore 
no necktie, became a hero beyond compare. They 
lost no time in sounding his praises, and time and 
again the three boys were questioned by the Old 
Guard — the village news bureau — as to whether 
this unique hero of theirs had let fall a hint of 
where he was born, why he had become a wan- 
derer, why he had halted at Oakham, and how 
long he meant to stay. But upon all these points 
they were totally in the dark ; they only knew that 
he was a wonderful old woodsman, not only will- 
ing but anxious to lead them afield; to open for 
them the thrilling book of forest lore and teach 
them its marvels. 

This he did from that morning onward, always 
with due regard for their own home duties. In 
fact not once did either of the three boys present 
themselves to him ready for any trip, but he 
would ask, “Did your folks say you could come 
, n’ how long kin ye stay away?” He began a sly 
inquiry also into their own home life, and its 
duties, especially Orlo’s. What crops were 
planted and their prospects; his school life and 
how far he had progressed in study and what his 


21 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


hopes, plans, and ambitions were. Once that first 
summer when alone with Orlo he gave him a bit 
of fatherly advice well worth quoting and one 
that set the boy thinking as nothing had before. 

“You’re all your mother’s got to plan on, Orlo, 
you ’n’ your sister, in her old age,” he said. ’N’ 
you’ve got to grow up ’n’ be the man o’ the house 
too, don’t forgit that. You’ve got to think o’ 
what’s ’spected o’ ye a good deal arlier ’n’ most 
boys so ye must try ’n’ feel yerself a man fer that. 
Fishin’ ’n’ trappin’ ’n’ havin’ fun in the woods is 
all right, a little on’t; but it ain’t what ye’ve got 
to grow up for. ’Stead o’ that it’s to git your 
schoolin’ ez fast ez ye kin ’n’ all the time think 
your most a man ’n’ must feel ’n’ act like one. 
That’s what your mother is hopin’ ’n’ you got to 
help her in it. Things might a bin different but 
they wan’t, so ye got to take ’em ez they are ’n’ 
make the best outen ’em. ’N’ doin’ your duty in 
life ez it comes without complainin’ is all that’s 
worth praisin’ in any one, mind that Orlo.” 

There was another thought in the boy’s mind, 
an increasing astonishment that such a nice old 
fellow with plenty of money should come here, 
take up his abode in such quarters and live as he 
seemed satisfied to do, in one room but little bet- 
ter than a sheep pen. Still more astonishing to 
Orlo was the fact that his mother, always watch- 


22 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ful of his associates, should allow him to become 
intimate with this really queer hermit. Jim and- 
Levi had been cautioned against him by their 
parents, but the fact that he had put money in 
the bank, together with his general acceptance as 
a harmless old recluse, had caused them to relent. 
But Orlo had not been constrained by one word 
since being brought home pig-a-back by Old 
Benus and the why of it seemed past understand- 
ing. 

To the three boys, and to Orlo especially this 
much criticized hermit soon became an ideal hero, 
a tutor in all wood lore, and the most companion- 
able old fellow ever known. He led them on sucker 
spearing trips by night, to the cascading brooks 
where trout darted, to the old mill pond where 
pouts and perch abounded, to coon hunts and corn 
roasts in early autumn, and when the nut-brown 
woods were ripe, to the joys of squirrel shooting, 
and snare and trap setting. When chilly evenings 
came, his fireside became a Mecca for them, and 
the nuts and apples he served, and the stories he 
told, seemed exhaustless. And so the seasons 
came and vanished, each bringing its own peculiar 
charm, always made more zestful by this fine old 
Nature worshiper to his well-beloved boys, until 
that fatal September day when they were shot 
skyward in an escaped balloon, the greatest horror 
that had ever fallen upon Oakham ! 


23 


CHAPTER III 

T HE first faint light of dawn outlined the 
narrow sandy shore of a forest-bordered 
lake, when Old Renus and the three boys, 
sorely cramped but hilarious, crawled out of their 
wicker basket. Then what an almost insane 
whoop of joy echoed across that placid sheet of 
water ! The boys screamed, shouted, turned hand- 
springs on the sand, hugged one another and Old 
Renus, whose eyes grew misty from the supreme 
happiness of their escape. By a miracle almost, 
they had landed on the shore of a sequestered lake, 
where it was they knew not, in fact they did not 
care, they only knew that they were safe after 
an awful night of terror and once more on dear 
Mother Earth. 

A fire of driftwood was soon started, and never 
before did the chilled boys realize how great a 
blessing crackling, cheery flames could seem. As 
the morning light grew brighter they saw their 
runaway balloon, a limp, flat, yellow bag prone on 


24 > 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


the rocks and low scrub spruce close by, while 
over the tops of a dense forest, trailed its tether- 
ing rope. An unrippled, mile wide, lake of oval 
shape, bounded by a dense green wilderness lay 
before them. A brook close by tinkled and 
splashed down a narrow dingle over mossy rocks, 
while a red squirrel chattered far away in the 
forest. 

“Wal, here we be boys alive and safe once 
more.” Old Renus drew a long breath. “But 
whar we be I haint no idee. Purty well up in 
Canada I callate. I s’pose ye’re hungry, ain’t ye?” 

“Hungry!” exclaimed Orlo, “why I’m most 
starved! But what we goin’ to git to eat?” 

“Wal, that’s the question,” rejoined Old Renus 
slowly and looking around once more. “But don’t 
git skeered. We’re in a pretty bad scrape but we 
ain’t a goin’ to starve. It’ll be a case o’ wood- 
chuck with us howsomever. We’ve got to hustle 
now !” 

“’N’ now let’s, round up things,” he added a 
moment later. “Got yer jack knives hev ye?” An 
inventory developed the fact that all their per- 
sonal belongings consisted of three Barlow knives 
the boys owned, a sheath knife Old Renus always 
carried, and a box containing just twenty-seven 
matches ! 

A more than scanty outfit to obtain food and 


3 


25 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


shelter in a vast wilderness, as Old Renus realized. 

“Be we goin’ to get out of the woods do you 
think !” Orlo asked and with Jim and Levi 
watched Old Renus anxiously for his reply. 

“Wal sometime, I callate,” he answered vaguely, 
“but not right away. Fust I dunno whar we are. 
Mebbe four or five hundred miles from any settle- 
ment. To start now with only small knives to get 
a livin’ with, means starvin’ to death sure boys. 
We kin go at it here ’n’ do it. But that’s our only 
show till we kin build a canoe ’n’ git a stock o’ 
meat or smoked fish to live on a month mebbe. 
’N’ winter way up here comes in ’bout two months 
now. I callate too we may hev to stay here ’till 
spring; ez I told ye boys we got to hustle now. 
The fust thing is to get suthin’ to eat. The next, 
build a cabin. ’N’ we got to rig some shelter out 
o’ that balloon to start on ’n’ one to keep a fire 
goin’ all the time. We jest mustn’t use another 
match till we’re obliged to. Now pick up ’n’ fetch 
all the dry wood ye kin while I look ’round.” And 
that blunt assertion of their situation outlined it 
in full. They were evidently marooned in a vast 
wilderness somewhere between the St. Lawrence 
River and Hudson Bay, with only summer cloth- 
ing and four small knives to sustain life with. 
Also a merciless winter scarce two months away ! 

But Old Renus did not even hint to his well be- 


26 



“ By a miracle . . . they had landed on the shore of a sequestered 
lake” 



♦ 


* 



























■ 


.* 
















































■ 






















































































































’ - . - - 1 




CAMP CASTAWAY 


loved boys bow desperate their situation was! 

He was well inured to hardships himself; he 
could travel and live quite comfortably in a wilder- 
ness for months in summer, with a camp ax, rifle, 
blanket, matches, can of salt and bag of hard 
tack; if a chunk of salt pork, a can of coffee and 
a few tin dishes were added, his comfort became 
luxury. But now, he had three healthy, hungry 
boys totally unused to real wilderness life on his 
hands, and just then, as if to taunt that brave 
old woodsman and those hungry boys, a big buck 
deer and a doe emerged from the woods, looked 
curiously at the group around the little fire, then 
walked leisurely away along the sandy shore. 
This incident assured Old Renus they must be 
far in a wilderness where no hunter ever came. 

But food of some sort must soon be obtained, 
and after the boys began gathering fuel along the 
lake shore, Old Renus started up the narrow 
ravine adown which the brooklet came purling, 
soon to be rewarded by finding a shallow pool al- 
most alive with chub and small suckers! But 
how to catch them was the question. 

Only for one moment was Old Renus puzzled, 
then he hastened back to the lake shore, called to 
the boys, and soon a triangular piece of the empty 
balloon was cut from it, pieces of the network 
of cords taken and untwisted, and a funnel-shaped 


27 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


bag with an oval hoop made of two willow stems 
to hold its broad end open, and a netting of cord 
over its small end, was constructed. 

“We’ll hev fish fer breakfast, boys,” Old Renus 
announced gleefully, leading the way back to the 
pool, and adjusting his rude fish trap in the small 
stream below it, soon succeeded in driving a few 
dozen of them into it. These were cleaned hastily, 
the fire freshened, and soon the four hungry ones 
were broiling small fish skewered on the ends of 
long sticks. 

The first problem of their situation was thus 
solved for a short time at least. 

Then Old Renus once more went prospecting. 

He had noticed an opening in the forest up be- 
yond this brook pool, and hastening to it, was both 
astonished and pleased to come upon a four acre 
pond with a high ledge along its northern side, 
and beyond that a lower one of up-jutting slate. 
Just across, to the right, lay a broad strip of 
sedge with a rim of thick growing cattails. A- 
flock of ducks was swimming along in front of 
this, and beyond and up from this area of sedge 
lay what appeared to be an open vale in the 
wilderness. Then Old Renus emitted a “Wal, by 
cracky, if this ain’t luck!” for, keen woodsman 
that he was, he saw, close at hand, the material to 
build a cabin sure to keep them warm and dry 


28 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


even during a Canadian winter; for lie felt quite 
sure they were destined to stay there until spring 
came again. 

So overjoyed was he that he almost leaped 
along in front of the ledge, above which towered 
the dense spruce forest, to find a level open spot ; 
and then went on to the ridge of slate. Much of 
that was loose, irregular slabs one to two feet 
broad and a half inch thick. More could be easily 
split off, he knew, and in his mind’s eye he saw 
a slate cabin, built in front of the protecting ledge 
and facing south, with a fireplace and chimney, 
bunks made of saplings and beds of dry sedge 
grass. Also a slate table with sapling benches 
around it. And best of all their empty balloon 
could he cut up for bedclothes. 

But the problem of food was the most vital of 
all. 

A fairly comfortable shelter seemed assured. 
Fuel was plenty. Fish could be caught in abund- 
ance for two months yet and a winter store cured 
with smoke. But he knew it would be almost a 
miracle if four civilized human beings lived 
through a rigorous northern winter on smoked fish 
only. 

“We got to git meat or starve,” he said to him- 
self, shaking his head. Then, continuing on around 
the pond, he came upon a small flock of partridges 


29 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


so tame they merely ran up a narrow opening in 
the woods, and halted to watch him curiously. 
“Well, I kin snare yon, my speckled beauties,” he 
thought, recalling the net which covered the 
balloon. 

As if to still further assure him, a jack rabbit 
hopped out of a coppice and stood looking at him 
with timid eyes. He kept on however, crouching 
low to avoid alarming this big, white hare, and 
circling around the pond he came upon what had 
looked like sedge grass but really was wild rice 
and fully ripe. 

Then Old Renus exclaimed in glad astonish- 
ment, “Wal, this is the best luck of all! The Lord 
is good to us fer sartin.” Returning to the lake 
again, he called his family to him. 

“Wal, boys,” he assured them almost hilari- 
ously, “we are sartinly the luckiest castaways that 
ever was,” then he explained how and why this 
was so. “The fust thing to do,” he added, “is to 
set some snares fer them tame partridges, hi’ then 
go at that wild rice. The next heavy rain that 
comes ’ll beat it all off, so it’s a case o’ hustle now. 
We are goin’ to pull out o’ this scrape ’n’ live to 
tell on’t. But we got to work like puttin’ out fire 
fer the next two months.” 

But work of the kind these hardy farm boys 
now foresaw, was but sport for them, and best 


so 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of all they also saw by the smiling face of their 
old hero, that he had faith in his own assertions. 

“You was some afraid we’d starve, wan’t you, 
Uncle Benus?” Orlo queried. 

“Wal, to be honest, I war,” he answered slowly, 
“and we ain’t all out o’ danger yit. We’ve 
got ’bout two months to git ahead o’ the game, 
’n’ arter that, it’s keep warm if we kin ’n’ live on 
a little. We are sure o’ rice puddin’ ’n’ smoked 
fish fer a spell, howsomever.” 

“And we ain’t agoin’ to try to git home this 
fall then?” Jim asked anxiously. 

“Why, no, boy* ’twould be a fool thing to try,” 
Old Benus answered firmly. “We’ve got a fair 
chance to pull through if we stay here’n hustle. 
But to start out now to go we don’t know how 
far, would mean starvin’ sure. We’re jest pris- 
oners here, till we kin lay in a store o’ grub to last 
all winter sure ’n’ build a canoe in the spring.” 

The collapsed balloon was then taken in hand. 
One half was cut into bed quilt pieces and all car- 
ried up to the spot Old Benus had selected for a 
cabin in front of an upright ledge. He next led 
the way to a cluster of white birches beside the 
patch of wild rice, and with his big knife managed 
to cut down and trim a dozen of them. He then 
set Jim and Levi to cutting armfuls of the wild 
rice, which was not quite ripe enough to shell out — 

si 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and to spreading it to dry on the big section of 
the balloon, while he and Orlo began rigging a 
temporary shelter with the smaller pieces. A 
few armfuls of driftwood which the boys had 
gathered, was next brought up from the lake 
shore, an open fireplace of slate slabs set up in 
front of the shelter, a burning brand and more 
fuel then fetched up and a new fire started in the 
unique, half open fireplace. Then with so much 
camp work done, he and Orlo joined the other 
two boys at the little rice swamp. They worked 
with a will, each one far harder than ever in a 
home grain field, for by this time the boys fully 
realized what Old Renus had assured them, that’ 
it was a case of “woodchuck” and every moment 
of daylight must be utilized in almost frantic 
work. 

The sun was nearly down to the treetops when 
Old Renus called a halt. He and Orlo went down 
to the brook pool to secure a mess of small fish 
while the others hunted for more driftwood, and 
soon Orlo was cooking their pitiful supper while 
the rest cut a bough bed of fir twigs. While do- 
ing this, Old Renus, always on watch for any trifle 
to be of use, came upon a big pine tree that had 
exuded long strips of pitch which was now dry 
and hard. These he peeled off with his knife and 
carried to the shelter. 


32 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


But that supper of browned and scorched fish 
without salt, and with water in a bark cup, was 
not, to say the least, an appetizing one. 

“We might be wuss off, jest a day back we. 
war,” Old Benus assured the boys, smilingly. “We 
are on earth now and safe. Then we wan’t. ’N’ 
I count that ez worth starvin’ fer a few days any- 
way. We got to count our blessin’s now, boys, 
’n’ middlin’ often too,” he added munching away 
on a bit of dry tasteless fish. “ ’N’ we mustn’t 
git blue ’n’ down-hearted. That’ll never do. We 
got to live like Injuns now’n I’m thankful we kin. 
I tell ye, boys, thar war a spell last night, when 
we war up the highest, I’d ’bout gin up hope. 
Now I’ve got it all back. I tell ye, boys, we’re 
goin’ to git out o’ this scrape if we keep well. 
We got to watch out fer that, howsomever.” 

Then this optimistic old woodsman cut a few 
bits of tobacco from a small plug, rolled them be- 
tween his palms, scraped every particle into a 
cob pipe and lit up with a burning twig. It was 
the first time the boys had seen him smoke since 
they had entered the ill-fated balloon. He next 
began untwisting pieces of cord from the balloon 
and started to braid them into snares. He also 
unwound fine copper wire from its basket for the 
same use, while the boys watched him curiously. 

“I’ve got to look for suthin’ to make fishhooks 

33 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


on tomorrow,” he said, smiling at the eager faces 
about him. “This pond is plum’ full o’ trout. I’ve 
seen dozens breakin’ water today. ’N’ we've got 
to rig a pool to keep ’em in too, fer winter. Like 
that won’t ye, boys! ’N’ I must hunt fer a salt 
lick too. We jest got to hev salt.” 

But those boys, wearied as never before in their 
lives, soon crawled under their rude shelter to fall 
asleep at once. Then Old Renus banked his 
precious fire and joined them. 


CHAPTER IV 

T RUE to the habit of his life, Old Reims woke 
up at daylight and crawled out from under 
the shelter. He whittled a few kindlings 
and soon had a cheery blaze started in the slate 
fireplace. Then he looked around. 

A thin cover of fog hid the little lake in front. 
A quack of many ducks came from it. A crow 
perched on a dead tree at its head, cowed rau- 
cously. From far away on the long lake below, 
came the human “halloo” of a loon. An antlered 
buck emerged from the woods just across the 
lake and began feeding in the border of the rice 
patch. Old Renus, adding fuel to his fire, sat 
down to warm his hands and think. A good many 
serious problems faced him. Fish and game were 
plentiful, but as yet he had no means to secure 
any for food except a few partridges, rabbits, 
and the small fish in their pool in the brook. 
These were available until snow came, and then 
what? They could, he now knew, build a stone 


35 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and slate hut and make it fairly comfortable. 
They would probably gather a bushel or so of wild 
rice which was a godsend. He might find a deer 
lick and secure a small amount of salt. A pool 
in the brook could be made ready to keep a few 
trout for winter use. But all these means to sus- 
tain life, would not avail a month after snow 
came. And so, wise in all wood lore, Old Renus 
now felt, as he would put it, “up a stump,” and a 
high one at that. 

He saw also, that they must absolutely catch 
and smoke all the fish and game possible before 
snow came. If that could be made to last through 
the long, cold winter, well and good. If not, it 
meant starvation. 

He did not think of himself, but of the three 
young lives now absolutely in his care. It would 
never do to let them get discouraged or despond- 
ent. That must not occur if it could be prevented. 
Just then they came from the shelter. 

“Slept good, did ye, boys?” he queried, smil- 
ing cheerfully. 

“I didn’t wake up once,” Orlo answered. “Or 
I,” Jim added. “Did you, Uncle Renus?” 

“Slept like a bug in a rug,” he responded. “ ’N’ 
in two days we’re goin’ to hev a roof to sleep 
under, beds o’ hay ’n’ a stove in our cabin. Now 
let’s go ketch some fish fer breakfast.” 

36 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


But in spite of his anxiety to keep the boys in 
good spirits, the small brook chub and suckers 
without salt, were tasteless to them. The first 
two meals, famished as they had been, were pass- 
able: but now, munching the insipid, half -cooked 
fish, it was inevitable that they should recall their 
own home fare — the ham and eggs, baked beans 
with well browned pork, chicken potpie, rye bread 
with plenty of butter, mother’s pantry with its 
jars of pickles and crisp doughnuts. The shelf of 
assorted pies and jams. They sighed discon- 
solately as they thought of all those goodies. 

But not a word of complaint did they utter. 

“We got to hustle ’n’ dig now, boys, every min- 
ute o’ daylight,” Old Renus again asserted after 
the miserable food was eaten. “Fust Orlo ’n’ I’ll go 
hi’ set all the snares Pve rigged, then go at hut 
buildup while you, Jim and Levi, git after the wild 
rice ag’in. I want every stalk o’ that cut ’n’ piled on 
our big half o’ the balloon today. We’ll need it 
all.” And so the day’s work was planned. 

Before starting, however, Old Renus wrapped 
his precious box of matches in a bit of the oiled 
silk, and hid them under a shelf of rock so no harm 
could come to them ; then he and Orlo started for 
the dingle at the head of the lake. A little brook 
came down this and was alive with small trout. 
Up this brook, a few rods, the narrow ravine 


37 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


broadened out and here Old Renus and Orlo built 
the usual two-foot-high brush fence across it and 
set four snares. Further on, in a blowdown, now 
a tangle of fallen and rotting tree trunks half- 
hidden by white birch and scrub spruce, they 
halted to construct another short fence, and set 
four more snares. A third one was built between 
the roots of a long fallen tree and an abutting cliff 
across the brook, and then Old Renus, with eyes 
and ears ever alert, pushed on. 

“Thar’s cats here, lots on ’em,” he announced, 
pausing at the foot of a low, thick-topped, yellow 
birch and examining the many claw marks on its 
smooth bark. “ ’N’ b’ars too,” he added, coming 
to a beech tree with an open space beneath it. 
“Thar’s whar one rooted like a pig to find nuts 
not long ago.” Then to Orlo’s surprise, he turned 
to a little group of young white birches and cut 
two stout clubs. 

“The cats won’t bother us,” he responded to 
Orlo’s anxious question, “so long ez they kin 
git ’nuff to eat. But arter snow comes, we got to 
watch out fer ’em. By that time, however, b’ars’ll 
be asleep fer winter.” He kept on some fifty rods 
more, crawling through the interminable tangle 
of fallen trees and scrub stuff, always keeping 
the brook within sound, when suddenly he halted, 
crouched low, and drew Orlo down beside him. 


38 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“See that?” he whispered, pointing to a dead 
tree trunk sloping upward out of the bushes. 

And peeping, breathless, Orlo saw a mottled 
animal, the size of a large dog, with pointed ears 
and big yellow eyes, stretched upon the sloping 
trunk not two rods away and glaring at them ! 

“We best go back,” Old Renus whispered, and 
back they crawled, much to Orlo’s relief, for this 
was the first time he had ever seen a lynx in its 
native haunts. 

“Pd give its weight in gold fer a rifle jest now,” 
Old Renus asserted, after they had crawled back 
some ten rods, and a deer had startled Orlo by 
jumping out from behind a stump, and then halt' 
ing to watch them. “Game’s plenty, here, all 
sorts,” Old Renus whispered again. I’ve seen 
lots o’ deer tracks this mornin’. ’N’ they’re tame 
too, never seen ’em so tame. Nobody ever bin * 
here arter ’em, I callate.” 

“Can’t we trap one,” Orlo asked anxiously. 
“Raw meat would taste good to me now.” 

“We’ll git one somehow,” Old Renus answered 
cheerfully, feeling the same craving. “Mebbe I kin 
rig a lasso. I used .to throw one middlin’ good 
when I war a cowboy.” Coming to the brook 
again, he shouted, “Hooray, this is luck,” and 
kneeling, began to paw into an out- jutting bank. 
“Blue clay,” he exclaimed exultingly, mashing a 

39 


CAMP. CASTAWAY 


bit of it between bis fingers. “Now we kin bev 
sntbin’ to cook in. ’Rah fer onr side, Orlo.” 

Lnck did seem to be coming tbeir way that day, 
for on returning to tbe last snare fence, built not 
an hour before, two partridges were found alive 
with nooses fast about tbeir necks. Another re- 
warded them in tbe next fence and two more, with 
a fat rabbit, had been caught in tbe first one built. 
Then Orlo gave a loud “whoop” and began to 
dance. To him, a hearty, hungry boy of fourteen 
who bad eaten nothing but fish, for two days, a 
feast seemed now just ahead. 

Old Renus was not long in making that “seem- 
ing” real after camp was reached, and within a 
few minutes four of the birds were dressed, cut 
up, and cooking upon a slab of slate. Jim and 
Levi were then called from their rice harvesting. 

They had eaten many meals of fish and game 
with their wondrous old hero. Brook trout, or 
pickerel fried brown in pork fat with warmed up 
potatoes, good bread and butter, and coffee; fat 
coons baked brown in his big oven with all the 
same side features, broiled partridges and squir- 
rels, but never one game feast had tasted half as 
good as these fat birds grilled on slate, and de- 
voured without salt or aught else. 

“Well fetch the rice over here now ’n’ spread on 
our balloon next, to ketch what shells off as it 


40 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


dries,” Old Renns directed, as soon as the meal 
was devoured. “ ’N’ fer shelter fer a night or 
two, we’ll rig up some spruce bark ’n’ boughs. We 
got to save that rice fust, anyway.” 

Go at it they did with a vim, and so hard did all 
four work that over an acre of wild rice was cut 
with pocket-knives, carried around the little lake 
and piled high upon half of the balloon before 
sunset. 

A bark and bough shelter was next constructed, 
and while Jim and Levi were sent to the brook 
pool for more small fish, Old Renus and Orlo 
visited the snares once more. Three birds were 
caught in the first two, and hurrying on to the 
third snare, Old Renus almost ran onto a huge 
wild cat busy devouring a partridge that had 
been caught in it. The vicious animal glared 
at him a moment, quite defiantly, then seizing 
its stolen prey, sneaked away in the under- 
growth. 

“Dern yer picter,” Old Renus ejaculated, stoop- 
ing to repair the fence. “If thar’s one thing I 
want more ? n all else, jest now, it’s a gun.” 

Orlo, however, was a good deal more scared 
than he was. In fact, with twilight coming on, 
and being a quarter of a mile from camp, the in- 
cident was enough to make even a sturdy farm 
boy feel afraid. 


4 


41 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

“Was it the one we saw?” he whispered as they 
turned back. 

“No, that war a lucivee, ’n’ this war jest a bob- 
cat ’n’ neither on ’em any danger now,” Old Renus 
returned, assuringly, “so don’t git skeered, Orlo, 
ye got to git used to them critters here.” 

Later, however, squatting by the crude stove, 
watching Old Renus grill the small fish and two 
more birds, Orlo related this incident to Jim and 
Levi and told just how he felt, while they lis- 
tened breathlessly. Just then, as if to accentuate 
the episode, there came to them from across the 
lake, a snarling “yaaoul” that made the boys 
shiver with fear. Another call of the same tenor 
answered from the blowdown, and both being so 
near, together with the gathering darkness, made 
them quake with fear. 

“Be we in any danger, Uncle Renus?” Orlo 
whispered anxiously, while Jim and Levi crept 
a little closer. 

“No, boy, I tell ye no!” the old man returned 
sharply. “Thar ain’t a mite o’ danger from them 
cussed cats now, not till snow comes. ’N’ then 
thar ain’t much less ye corner one. Ez fer to- 
night, let ’em growl. Ye couldn’t drive one within 
ten rods o’ our fire with dogs. All I care is thar 
eatin’ up the birds we ketch, fer we need ’em the 
worst way. 


42 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Ye got to git used to them cusses,” lie added 
again a moment later, passing a section of grilled 
bird and a fish to each of the scared boys. “ ’N’ 
ye’ve got to sleep good, keep yer spirits up ’n’ 
leave the rest to me. When thar’s any danger brew- 
in’ I’ll tell ye. All we need think on now is to git a 
hut built ’n then hustle to git grub stored away. 
I’m goin’ try’n lassoo a deer tomorrow. I think 
it kin be done. If we kin git two or three deer’n 
jerk the meat, we’re safe.” 

“Thar’s a pile o’ work to be done, boys,” he 
continued, after lighting his pipe for his once-a- 
day smoke and beginning to untie a long piece of 
the heavy silk cord that had enmeshed their bal- 
loon. “Stuns o’ all sizes ye kin lift, hez got to 
be fetched to build the walls o’ a cabin. I’m goin’ 
to use slate fer a roof. We got to fetch a lot o’ 
the blue clay I found up the brook to chink the 
walls and make some dishes out’n. I kin make a 
pot to boil in, a pan to fry in, ’n’ plates to eat on, 
all out o’ that clay. ’N’ if I kin only git a deer, 
boys, you’ll see me dancin’ jigs, fer we’ll be in 
clover then.” 

He worked with a will now, this resourceful old 
woodsman, untying hard knots in the heavy silk 
cord, then untwisting them and rubbing the kinks 
with a bit of spruce gum, in the light of his pine 
knot beside the fire, and within an hour he had 


43 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


his lasso all ready for use. Then helped by the 
boys, he began to make more snares. 

“I tell ye, boys,” he said while doing this, “that 
balloon hez proved a perfect godsend to us. 
’Twas a pizen thing, to ’a’ so shot us up skyward, 
till we near froze, but now think what it means 
to us. Without it, I think we’d ’a’ starved here. 
O’ course, I c’ud ’a’ made snares out o’ our shirts 
in a pinch, but no hopes o’ gittin’ a deer. Now I 
hev. Now I kin see a good chance o’ plenty o’ 
meat ’n’ skins to make clothes on. We’re goin’ to 
hev beds full o’ moss to sleep on. Pillows filled 
with feathers ’n’ comforters moss-lined to sleep un- 
der. We’ll hev bunks filled a foot deep with rice 
hay ’n’ ’nuff left to thatch our slate roof six inches 
thick. Oh, Pve got the whole business all mapped 
out ’n’ don’t git skeered by yowlin’ cats. We’re all 
right, and now let’s turn in.” 

So cheered were those boys by his optimistic 
outlook, and so tired withal, they felt no further 
alarm when another cat yowled out of the dark 
wilderness, but slept, even as they would at home. 


CHAPTEE V 

T EXJE to his plans and the need of hustling, 
Old Eenus was up and out of the bark 
shelter at dawn, and had the four quarters 
of the jack rabbit broiling when the boys emerged. 
Then, taking a double handful of the ashes he had 
poked out before starting the fire, he led the way 
to the lake to show them how woodsmen can wash 
without soap. And this was only one of the many 
lessons in woodcraft the boys were soon to learn. 

They were witnesses to another one after break- 
fast for then Old Eenus wound cord about his 
body and legs ; next began to thatch himself with 
short spruce boughs, until a front view, he much 
resembled a six foot tall scrub spruce. 

“Don’t go out o’ sight o’ the lower brook or the 
big lake shore in huntin’ fer stuns,” he cautioned 
the boys, coiling his lassoo properly; ready now 
to start for a deer. “You’ll find plenty ’long the 
brook ’n’ on the lake shore now it’s low. Jest 
hustle, o’ course, but don’t try ’n’ fetch too big 


45 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

ones.” Then with his hunting knife handy to 
draw quick, he strode away. 

“By Jiminy, Pd like to follow and see how he 
does it!” Orlo ejaculated, watching him enter the 
woods. 

“Me too,” echoed Jim, with equal admiration. 
“Say, but what he don’t know ’bout huntin’ ain’t 
wuth knowin’ !” 

“We are goin’ to owe our lives to him,” added 
Levi, who for his years was quite a thinker. 

“We’d ’a’ starved certain,” rejoined Orlo, “but 
now I’m sure we won’t. And when we get the 
cabin built what a heap of fun we’re goin’ to have 
snarin’ partridges. Why, they’re thicker’n spar- 
rows up in that blowdown, and so tame you could 
knock ’em over with a pole.” Then, loyal to their 
hero’s direction after stones, they went on the 
run. Close by at first, along the shore of the 
small lake they fetched them slowly, as they must, 
and scampered back for more. In an hour of the 
liveliest hustling, having brought all the available 
stones from around the small lake, they began on 
the moss-coated ones down the brook vale. Mean- 
time, they kept watching anxiously for Old Renus 
to emerge from the woods, hoping to see him 
bearing the hunter’s best prize; a deer on his 
back. 

It was over two hours before he did appear, 


46 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


but no deer was on bis shoulders. He only had 
half a dozen birds in one hand. 

“I did the trick, hooray,” he shouted, tossing 
the birds under the shelter and executing a few 
jig steps. “Got a good-sized buck, too, with 
horns,” he added, beginning to shed his spruce 
thatching. “Now we’ll all go ’n’ fetch him in.” 
Then those astonished and joyful boys noticed 
that the old hunter’s hands and arms were red 
with blood! 

“ ’Twas middlin’ lively work to git up to that 
buck ’n’ slash his throat arter I’d yanked him over 
’n’ ’fore he could git up agin,” he explained, as 
they kept close behind him up into the blowdown. 
“He war nibblin’ wintergreen leaves jest at the 
foot o’ the lopped-over tree when I spied him ’n’ 
I got up to ’bout four rods ’fore he even looked 
up. He didn’t mind me then, cal’latin’ I war 
spruce scrub I s’pose, ’n’ so I kept creepin’ up a 
half step at a time till I wan’t ten feet away. Then 
he looked up ag’in ’n’ the next second my lasso 
war ’round his neck. I give it an awful tug ez 
he jumped ’n’ over he went. ’N’ the next he knew 
I’d slashed his throat wide open.” 

“We’ve got venison ’nuff to last more ’n’ a 
month,” he added buoyantly, as they came up to 
the prize, “ ’sides a skin that’ll make two o’ you a 
suit each. ’N’ I’ll hev a couple o’ fishhooks cut out 


47 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


o’ his horns ’fore I sleep. I tell ye, boys, we’re 
in luck !” 

Two stout birch poles were cut to carry the 
deer to camp, then Jim and Levi began gathering 
stones again, while Old Renus and Orlo set about 
getting slate slabs and spruce bark to make a 
smoke house. Clay from the bank up beside the 
brook was also fetched in one of their silk 
blankets, and soon Old Renus had his promised 
dishes shaped and ready for baking, while the 
boys halted their work to watch him curiously. 
They were fast learning more wood lore than they 
had ever dreamed of. 

Late that afternoon, when the red sun once 
more sank below the enclosing forest, they all 
quit their hard work, to enjoy a wash in ashes and 
sand on the lake shore; then those boys, con- 
tent now and more assured of their safety with 
keen anticipation watched Old Renus grilling 
slices of venison on his slab of slate. And that 
supper, although of hot meat only, was for many 
reasons, the most satisfying and most enjoyable 
they had so far eaten. 

They felt a sense of security also, for, shut in 
as they were with a dense wilderness all about,, 
the ledge just back of them was a protection, 
while the lake in front, now reflecting the stars, 
completed their defense from all night prowlers. 


48 


CAMP CASTAWAY* 


The big pile of stones and plenty of slate were 
handy to construct a warm and secure cabin that 
no yowling lynx or wildcat could enter. A fine 
buck hung in a cleft of rock to feast upon for a 
long time ; half a dozen fat partridges were under 
cover, and plenty more in the woods, sure to be 
caught; in short, they now felt assured of what 
their wise old hero had promised, a crude but 
safe wildwood home with food aplenty, and warm 
skins to cover them when snow came. 

Two or three times that evening the now fa- 
miliar “yaoul” of bob cat or lynx came from far 
away, but they gave it scant heed. Instead, while 
watching Old Renus deftly cutting, scraping and 
fashioning a fishhook from an antler prong, 
visions came of pulling big trout out of the lake- 
let, and as a sequence, building a little dam in the 
brook in which to keep them alive. Many a time 
they had planned to do these very things when 
they grew up to manhood and escaped from the 
old farm. Now this part of their dream was to 
be realized. True, most of all else pertaining to 
that wildwood idyl was missing — the canoe, the 
guns, traps, the log cabin, etc. ; but the trout were 
here in plenty. Game birds, deer, and fur bear- 
ing animals too. Old Renus with his wondrous 
woodcraft had captured the first two camp life 
needs, and now they felt quite sure he was capable 


49 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of securing a few lynx and possibly a bear. In 
fact there seemed to be no limit to what he could 
do in the woods. 

But their eyelids began to droop by the time 
he had fashioned two coarse fishhooks; the fire 
had burned low, and feeling safe and sure of 
protection, they crawled under cover and soon 
fell asleep. 

But Old Benus did not follow. Instead he 
added a few sticks to the dying fire and began to 
ponder. First, over their position and its many 
dangers. 

The dangers did not at present cause him seri- 
ous alarm. He felt the need of caution, and that 
the boys must not be allowed to go into the woods 
alone. Later on he knew there would be danger 
from the fierce Canadian lynx. He was satisfied 
there were plenty hereabout. He and Orlo had 
come upon a big one. He had seen their tracks 
and scratch marks in many places, and from the 
night calls he knew they must be numerous. He 
also began to worry about wolves, the most dan- 
gerous of wild animals in this far northern wil- 
derness. Up to this night, though always alert, 
he had not heard one. 

He gave most thought, however, to the problem 
of their possible position. If they were on the 
St. Lawrence watershed, to canoe out in the 


50 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


spring would be quite easy. If north of that, and 
the outlet of the big lake was towards Hudson 
Bay, it was a different and more serious matter. 

The abundance and tameness of all game and 
wild animals so far, proved that few, if any, hun- 
ters or trappers had ever come here. 

So Old Benus felt cause for serious worry just 
now. All this he pondered over for half an hour, 
then, as usual, banking his fire well and carefully 
with ashes and bits of slate, he turned and crawled 
under cover, but just then he heard the faint 
sound of scratching-up back on the ledge. 

He paused to hear it repeated, then stepped 
to the right, watching and listening. One, two, 
three steps like a cat he took and then, above and 
close to the ledge crest and glistening in the star- 
light, he saw two big yellow eyes glaring down 
at him ! 


CHAPTER VI 

W HEN Old Renus saw those vicious lynx 
eyes it only confirmed his fears that this 
wilderness was infested by those dan- 
gerous night prowlers, and that probably no trap- 
pers ever came here. He had surmised they had 
been swept far into the Canadian wilderness, and 
now he was positive of it, and that their situation 
was more desperate than he dared tell the boys. 
He was not much alarmed just now, however, but 
stooping, picked up a stone and hurled it fair at 
the two gleaming eyes, to hear the creature give 
a spiteful snarl and leap back into darkness. Then 
he dragged his much prized deer under the bark 
and bough shelter. 

He stood up after this to look over the dimly 
visible lake and around the dark enclosing forest 
and listen with an eerie, uncanny feeling, and a 
heartfelt wish for his trusty rifle. 

Just then, from far away in the black, somber 
forest, came the low, quavering howl of a wolf ! 


52 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Now for the first time since he stepped out of 
that ill-fated balloon, Old Renus felt a sudden 
chill of fear. 

A half-starved lynx might spring upon a man 
unawares, but he knew full well that not even a 
volley from rifles would halt or drive away a band 
of hungry wolves. 

“We’ve got to make our stone hut wolf -proof !” 
he said to himself, listening long and intently, 
“ ’n’ stock it fer a long siege, mebbe. If ever a 
pack o’ them devils come ’round, we’re jailed till 
spring.” He waited still longer, listening eager- 
ly, anxiously, almost tremblingly, but no more 
ominous howls coming out of the darkness, he 
crawled under the shelter. 

In the morning the boys naturally asked why 
they had found the deer under cover, but Old 
Renus passed the matter by quite readily. 

“I got thinkin’ a cat might come ’round in the 
night,” he answered lightly, “ ’n’ I didn’t callate 
on havin’ our good venison clawed ’n’ chewed by 
one o’ them varmints.” 

“We’ve got to git our meat smokin’ the fust 
thing,” he announced, after a goodly breakfast of 
it had been grilled and eaten, and at once he and 
Orlo set about it, while Jim and Levi went after 
stones again. A dozen or more small white 
birches were secured, cut into ten foot lengths, 

53 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


then lashed two by two at the top with ends pro- 
jecting. These in tnrn were set up tent-shape 
with a ridge pole to hold them in position. Two 
tiers of smaller cross pieces were lashed to these 
and the skeleton of a smoke house was thus con- 
structed. This was next covered with sections 
of spruce bark held in place by slabs of slate, a 
fire hole was dug under one end of the structure, 
a slate slab laid over that, and an almost exact 
reproduction of what Indians use to cure meat in 
was now ready. An hour later Old Renus had 
most of his deer cut in long strips; these were 
hung on the crossbars, and a smudge smoke start- 
ed in the fire hole. To expedite the curing and 
save smoke, he also cut and laid a mat of spruce 
boughs over the entire creation. With so much 
camp work done, he and Orlo visited their snares 
to secure three birds and find that two more had 
been devoured by “them pesky cats,” as Old 
Renus called their yellow-eyed neighbors. 

“Pd gin five dollars apiece fer steel traps jest 
now,” he asserted, after repairing the two sections 
of torn fence. “But they ain’t to be had, I 
s’pose,” he added, sighing. “All we kin do is 
tend the snares often ’n’ catch ez catch can. Arter 
we git our cabin built, we’ll set some over tother 
side o’ the pond fer luck. Mebbe we can dodge 
the cats that way.” Then after a midday meal 


54 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of grilled deer bones, for Old Renus would not 
waste an ounce of meat, the one most important 
need of all now, a cabin, was begun. 

Old Renus planned to use a section of sloping 
ledge for one wall of the cabin, and his first move 
was to set up a good-sized slate fireplace against 
the ledge with flat stones to hold it firmly in place. 
Above this he built his chimney, mainly of bits 
of slate, up to the ledge top, then began work on 
the cabin walls. He made them thick and double, 
stone outside, slabs of slate within, and chinked 
with clay and fine gravel or shale. It was no easy 
task to build those walls of rounded stones so they 
would stay up. They also had to be broad at the 
base and sloping up from the outside; and this 
used up so many more stones than the boys had 
brought that Jim and Levi were kept busy getting 
more. It took them over three days, working on 
the jump from sunrise to sunset. But when it 
was completed, with a sloping roof of overlapping 
slate, a door consisting of two slabs fitted to slide 
to and fro behind birch saplings, a two-foot square 
window of the same, the boys surveyed it with 
pride and satisfaction. To them it was a most 
picturesque wildwood abode, far more attractive 
than the pole and bark wigwam they had once 
built on the shore of a secluded pond at home. 

“It’ll keep us warm anyway when snow comes,” 


55 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Old Reims asserted, smiling at their admiration 
and praise. “ ’ISP we needn’t worry ’bout cats or 
other varmints night time either, which is some 
comfort. 

“But we needn’t work quite so hard from now 
on,” he added, glancing down at the lake where 
trout were breaking water. “That is, you boys 
kin go fishin’ ’n’ keep watch o’ the snares for a 
change, while I rig up some bunks, lay down a 
floor of saplin’s ’n’ build a slate lean-to ’longside 
to keep our meat ’n’ birds in. Fust thing, how- 
ever, we best go at thrashin’ out our rice with 
sticks. It’s dry enough to shell, I notice.” 

This proved an easy task, and they secured 
enough of that brown and quite nourishing grain 
to fill the wicker basket that had brought them 
into this wilderness. With so much house-build- 
and housework done, and the sun midway the 
western horizon, Old Renus led the way towards 
what appeared to be a gap in the forest opening 
south from their “pond” as the boys had begun 
to call it. Here, or at the head of the oval open- 
ing, where they had cut wild rice, they followed 
a dry brook course a few hundred rods upward 
and then what was probably the bed of a former 
lake, an open expanse, many miles long and per- 
haps two wide, lay before them. To the right a 
low, spruce-clad range bordered it, with a lower 


56 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


fringe of white-stemmed birches. To left or east- 
ward rose a sharply defined, green-capped ledge, 
while in front, and stretching away to the horizon 
line, lay this unique gap. A vast level almost, 
with patches of stunted spruce here and there and 
a few low, green hillocks rising out of the wide 
expanse. 

Far beyond, amid what appeared like gray mist, 
rose a group of dead skeleton trees. And that 
vast elongated meadow was entirely carpeted with 
wintergreen. 

Here and there deer were calmly feeding. A 
huge antlered moose was just emerging from the 
birches a quarter mile away. A few swamp 
maples midway glowed like crimson flame, and 
close by, on a dead treetop, was a gray forest 
eagle. 

“Wal,’ if this ain’t a picter I never saw one,” 
Old Renus exclaimed as they halted to look it 
over. “ ’N’ talk about game,” he added as the 
familiar “peep-peep” of a pair of partridges close 
by drew their attention, “why it’s a sin not to 
hev a gun jest now. 

“But we kin snare all the birds we want here,” 
he continued, a moment later, “ ’n’ less bother 
from cats. They alius stick to the timber or a 
blowdown. Ez fer deer, we might ez well lasso 
’em clus to camp ’n’ save luggin’ ’em a long way. 


5 


57 


GAMP CASTAWAY 


I tell ye, boys, we ain’t goin’ to starve this winter 
nohow !” 

It so appeared to those enraptured boys, who 
never in their lives had seen a sight like this. 

“And won’t the cats come here?” Orlo asked a 
little anxiously, as they advanced into the open. 

“Wal, not to bother any,” Old Renus answered 
assuringly. “Cats o’ all kinds are sneaky critters, 
’n’ those here, the lynx speshly, never come out 
into an open. It’s the nater o’ the varmints to 
keep hid till they kin spring onto some game.” 
Then he drew his knife and began cutting spruce 
boughs to build a snare fence and the boys has- 
tened to aid him. One ten rods long was soon run 
out from an abutting rock to a clump of scrub 
growth. A half-dozen snares were set, and then 
they returned to camp. 

“We best lay by a big stock o’ birds now while 
birds are goin’,” Old Renus asserted as they began 
getting supper. “I kin fix ’em up so they’ll keep till 
spring, ’n’ br’iled partridges are a good deal more 
consolin’ ’n jerked venison that tastes o’ smoke. 
Tomorrow mebbe ye boys better go snare settin’ 
all day ’stead o’ fishin’. The fishin’ ’ll keep a 
spell longer.” 

That supper of grilled deer bones with a quar- 
ter of a big rabbit for each, lacked only salt to 
make it palatable. Of course, the boys were be- 


58 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ginning to miss many home good things quite 
seriously, but the one thing most craved was salt. 

“I s’pose you’re gettin’ salt hungry, boys,” Old 
Renus said, divining how it was with them. “I 
am anyway, though I don’t mind ez much ez ye 
do. I’m cal’latin’ to go huntin’ fer a deer lick, 
howsomever, when we git fixed up a little more. 
I must build a lean-to, ez I said, to keep our meat 
’n’ birds away from the prowlin’ cats. Then 
comes our bunks, a spare set o’ clay dishes, ’n’ 
when we’ve got grub ’nuff laid away, we must git 
after a stock o’ white birch, ’n’ a wood pile with 
only my big knife to cut with, ain’t no joke.” 

There were other needs of their situation which 
he knew must be provided for. Two or three 
deer skins, tanned, to be cut up and fashioned 
into some sort of garments. A coarse needle of 
bone to use with unraveled silk cord. A pair of 
snowshoes and bark or slate snow shovels. In 
fact, he was woodwise enough to know that sit- 
uated as they were, even with game aplenty se- 
cured, to cook, keep warm and live through a long 
winter in this far north wildnerness, with snow 
six to ten feet deep in a temperature below zero, 
required much preparation and hardy, warm-clad 
men to do the work. And he had with him three 
boys with no conception of what a winter here 
actually meant! 


59 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


But this wise old woodsman was not given to 
much meditation. A tremendous task faced him, 
for he knew he must care for those three boys and 
take them out of this wilderness with naught but 
knives and a collapsed balloon to help in the fight ! 

Now, as soon as supper was eaten, Old Renus 
freshened his fire to give more light, and set 
about the making of more snares; the boys, fast 
learning the many arts of woodcraft, helping him. 

To them there were no serious clouds on the 
horizon. Their stone hut close by, with rice straw 
knee-deep in it, and a door to be shut, was like a 
fort, secure against all wilderness prowlers. 
Snaring birds and fishing on the morrow, besides 
helping Old Renus, would be joyous sport for 
them. In fact, all the hard work so far had not 
seemed work at all, but charming camp making 
with their fine old hero for leader. 

They were getting used to the nightly yowl of 
wildcats too, and while nothing could have tempt- 
ed them to go ten rods away from camp after 
dark, in it they felt as safe as at home. 

But Old Renus now had what might be called a 
far-away cause for worry, and that — wolves. He 
had heard one the evening previous, and knowing 
their habits, realized that so long as small game 
was plenty, they ranged in pairs and seldom 
howled. But as soon as snow came, they herded 


60 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


in bands of a dozen or more, tbe better to attack 
and kill deer or moose. Also that when they 
found a trapper’s or lumberman’s camp, with 
scent of meat or cooking, they would hang about 
and haunt it for weeks. So now he was on the 
alert for them. 

Two or three cat yowls came that evening from 
up in the blowdown. A pair of loons on the big 
lake below hallooed in usual, human tone. Hoot 
owls near or far uttered their wierd calls. In 
fact, all the usual wildwood voices of the night 
were heard, but scarcely noticed. But when Old 
Renus, always the last to seek slumber, had 
banked the fire, then — from across the big lake 
it came, a faint, but unmistakable wolf howl! 


CHAPTER VII 


E ACH autumn foi several years past, Orlo 
and his two faithful companions had, 
joining together and taught by Old Renus, 
built themselves three of the usual farm-boy brush 
fences to snare partridges in. These were con- 
structed of brush, weeds, tufts of leaves and grass, 
and were run across a cedar and alder grown 
brook dingle, perhaps fifty rods wide. They were 
about two feet high and usually three rods apart. 
In these fences, holes the size of a partridge were 
left open. A fine wire or horse-hair noose was 
next attached to a stout crossbar and hung in 
due position. A narrow path was cleared along 
both sides of the fence so that when partridges — 
which like chickens never fly unless frightened — 
came to the fence, they naturally followed it to 
an opening, and the waiting noose. These were 
visited late each afternoon and from two to three 
birds captured daily. Now and then an unwise 
rabbit would run his head into a noose. A fox 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


or a big hawk would occasionally get ahead of 
the boys and secure a feast, and so bird snar- 
ing, while alluring, was a somewhat precarious 
sport. 

But now when those three boys, each carrying 
a stout club for possible “cats,” and a half-dozen, 
snares, hastened over to this “once was” lake bot- 
tom, they found that four of the six snares set 
the previous afternoon had scored. These were 
reset and, going on to the right a hundred rods 
more, another fence was built and snares set. A 
second one beyond that, running from the border- 
ing white birches to a hillock out in the level of 
wintergreen leaves, was constructed, and then the 
boys turned back. Never before had they seen so 
many partridges, for they were all about, in sin- 
gles, pairs or in flocks of a half-dozen, and so 
entirely indifferent to the boys they would not 
more than get out of their way. In fact, when 
the boys drew near to their first fence, they spread 
out, and actually drove a half-dozen birds up to 
it and saw three of those stupidly tame ones get 
noosed. 

“Jingo, but this is like killing chickens,” Orlo 
exclaimed as they came up to the fluttering birds 
and wrung their necks. 

“I never saw anything like it,” Jim added. “Pll 
bet no hunters ever come here!” 


63 


CAMP castaway; 


“And Pll bet nobody but us ever did!” Levi 
added. 

“Partridges wouldn’t be so tame if they’d ever 
seen humans afore. If we had fish poles we could 
noose ’em without building fences.” 

But it was noon by this time, the boys were 
hungry, and so, proudly carrying the string of 
fourteen birds they had secured, and forgetting 
all fear of cats, they hastened back to camp. 

Old Renus had his slate oven set up and clay 
dishes slowly baking within it. His slate lean-to, 
held by stout white birch poles up to the cabin 
roof, was also well under way. A floor of slate 
had been laid beneath it and two birds he had 
found in his snares were dressed and ready for 
cooking. 

“Wal, ye had middlin’ luck,” he announced, 
smiling, as the boys came up. “But I ’spected it, 
I never seen birds like over thar in all my life 
nowhar. Guess you’d better take up our tother 
snares ’n’ set ’em over in the lake bottom.” 

When their dinner was grilled to a turn, Old 
Renus once more surprised the boys by sprinkling 
a powder of browned wintergreen leaves on it. 

“ ’Tain’t salt,” he then announced, “but it’s the 
next thing to it. I took a handful o’ them leaves 
’n’ scorched ’em brown to make it. You’ll see it’ll 
sorter git rid o’ the fresh taste.” 


64 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


It did, and added quite a zest to the browned 
partridge meat. 

“We’re goin’ to hev rice puddin’ fer dinner to- 
morrow,” he next asserted, “’a’ mebbe venison 
stew with wild parsnips in it fer supper. I found 
a big bed on ’em over in the blowdown. They’ll 
gin the stew a good flavor. ’N’ they ain’t so wuss 
to eat either. Kinder peppery, but good just the 
same when cooked. Oh, we ain’t goin’ to starve, 
boys,” he concluded. “If only I could kill a b’ar 
we’d live on the top shelf all winter. I’m goin’ 
to try ’n’ figger it out somehow.” 

And so great was their faith in his woodcraft, 
they were almost positive bear meat would be the 
next item on the menu, with a warm bearskin to 
sleep under, later on. 

The boys by this time were duly and fully im- 
pressed with the need of securing and storing 
what food and fuel they could for the long winter 
so near at hand, and while they tried the bone fish- 
hooks Old Renus had fashioned, and caught a good 
string of trout, they kept after the snares persist- 
ently, cutting small white birches for fuel between 
times. Old Renus lassoed two more deer by his 
unique stalking method, smoking most of the meat 
and tanning the skins by the usual wood-ashes 
process used by Indians. He built a second lean-to 
beside the cabin, rigged two bunks and filled them 


65 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


with rice straw, laid a sapling floor in it, prepared 
the scores of birds the boys brought in so they 
would keep, fashioned bone needles with which 
to make skin garments, and so the wildwood 
housekeeping continued for two weeks and with 
no more exciting incident than the nightly cat 
calls, and an occasional wolf howl noticed but not 
mentioned by Old Renus. They had secured 
nearly enough venison and birds to last all win- 
ter but their woodpile was still scanty, for cutting 
down sapling birches with a hunting knife only, 
was a slow method. 

The weather had also favored them with a suc- 
cession of glorious September days without a 
cloud and with ambient skies and light south 
breezes. Each morning the sun rose bright and 
pale-yellow out of the green forest. Each evening 
after it vanished, a chill came and a light frost 
whitened the sedge grass and alders around the 
lake shore. The few scattered hardwoods grew 
yellow and crimson. Triangles of wild geese 
“honk-honked” their way south. Ice began to 
form around shallow pools and grim winter was 
evidently creeping nearer. Then one morning 
Old Renus announced that they would devote the 
day to a cruise around the shores of the long lake 
beside which they had landed. 

“We’ll take along some grilled birds ’n’ fried 


66 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


rice cakes,” he asserted, “ ’n’ hev a day off. We’ve 
bin hustlin’ now every minute fer most a month, 
’n’ it’s time fer a change. Besides I’ve a notion 
some trappers may hev come here sometime ’n’ 
we might find suthin’ we kin use. I’d give a good 
deal fer a steel trap jest now to ketch a b’ar with.” 
And so after securing their stores from maraud- 
ing cats, much to the boys’ delight they started. 

The long lake beside which they had landed 
showed it was unusually low, for a two rod wide 
beach of sand and shale almost surrounded it. 
The tracks of deer were plenty along this beach, 
and two deer stood watching them but a few rods 
away, as they emerged from the woods and started 
along to the right. Just across the lake a huge 
moose with wide antlers stood facing them and 
the rising sun. A buck and two does splashed 
along the reedy margin beyond him ; in fact eight 
deer and this lord of the forest were now in sight. 
A big flock of ducks almost blackened the lower 
end of the lake, and to add a mystic charm, the 
tiny waves plashed along the sandy margin at their 
feet. 

“Some game, boys, ain’t it?” Old Renus said as 
they moved on. “ ’N’ I never saw deer so tame, 
or partridges either,” he added, as a crested cock 
hopped up on an outjutting tree root not two rods 
away and calmly watched them. “It makes me 


67 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


think nobody’s been here for a long time, mebbe 
years, ’n’ I don’t like that. We must be a good 
ways from a settlement, mebbe hundreds o’miles.” 
On nearing the foot of the lake they came to a 
short passage connecting it with a much larger 
one. Two green-clad islands rose midway of this, 
a broader one curving to the right, and apparently 
ending at a gap due north in a low range of moun- 
tains. 

“Seems like these lakes hev an outlet the wrong 
way,” Old Renus declared, glancing around the 
green, undulating horizon line. “I’d hoped it’d 
run to southard but if it’s north we’re wuss off’n I 
cal’lated. It means headin’ towards Hudson Bay 
when we go out. Skin up a tree, Orlo,” he added 
anxiously, “ ’n’ see what ye kin see.” 

Orlo did so, selecting a tall spruce just back 
on the bank and soon returned to report that this 
opening in the mountains appeared to continue 
on to the north. 

“Wal, we won’t worry, boys, not yit,” Old Renus 
rejoined, smiling down into the anxious faces up- 
raised to his. “Perhaps the outlet makes a turn 
a spell on, ’n’ runs south arter all. No use cross- 
in’ a bridge till we come to it.” 

But it was a long way around to this apparent 
outlet, miles in fact, following the in and out 
curves of the shore. Two streams were found 


68 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


entering it on the way, the second a quite sizable 
one, too deep to wade. It was narrow, the water 
looked black, and it emerged from an overhang of 
swamp hackmatack and bordering willows. A 
faint sound of falling water came from far in- 
ward. Tiny foam flecks floated slowly out from 
the shadow, and knowing it was useless to cross 
this stream to follow the lake outlet, and it being 
almost noon, Old Eenus was about to turn back 
when his always watchful eyes fell upon a stump 
of about six-inch diameter projecting across the 
stream and just above them. 

“Somebody cut away that lopped-over tree 
sometime to git up that brook,” he thought, in- 
stantly knowing that trappers invariably built 
their camps near running water. “Guess we’d best 
foller it up ’n’ see what we kin find.” And without 
saying a word to the boys, he led them up its 
course. It twisted sharply through a quagmire 
swamp so thickly grown with alders and briars 
they could scarce crawl through, until a low ledge 
facing south was reached, around the end of which 
the brook ran. Here a narrow path up from the 
stream had once been cut in the brush, moss 
broken away from a sloping shelf of rock and an 
opening made just ahead. 

In the center of it, in front of a second ledge 
and facing south, stood a small log cabin! 


69 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


For one instant even the heart of Old Renus 
gave an unexpected leap, while the boys gathered 
close to him, for it seemed as if a ghost was likely 
to emerge from this hidden away cabin with closed 
door and one small window hole open like a huge 
watchful eye. It was the first human sign they 
had come upon in almost a month! 

It had long been vacant, for grass and weeds 
had grown in front. On one side, the bow of an 
overturned canoe appeared from beneath a lean- 
to of birch poles and bark. Beside the closed door 
lay a small pile of birch and alder wood, and near- 
by the edge of a rusty ax was sunk into the end of 
a small log. 

“Nobody to hum, that’s sartin,” Old Renus ejac- 
ulated, advancing and peeping into the window 
hole, half expecting to see a grinning skull; then 
he pushed at the door to find it fastened. Next, 
knowing the ways of log cabin builders, he peered 
around the near corner, drew out a long plug, and 
pushed the door inward. 

And now the home and home life of a trapper 
stood revealed. 

In one corner of the room was a crude fireplace 
of flat stones with a chimney going through the 
log roof. A bunk built of sapling birch, filled with 
dry fir twigs and grass, ran along one side t and 
upon it lay a pair of gray wool blankets. A hang- 


70 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ing shelf of saplings, beneath the window, held a 
few tin dishes, cups, a coffee-pot, a knife and a 
fork. In front of this shelf stood a slab bench 
and np in one corner, nailed to the logs, was a 
box two feet long with a cover swinging on leather 
thongs for a door. A tiny pantry closet in fact, 
with two shelves, and on them three unopened 
cans of coffee, two of baked beans, a glass jar 
almost full of salt, five tins of condensed milk and 
a box of pepper. A blackened tin pail stood be- 
side the fireplace, a frying pan also. Another 
pail hung from a peg in the wall and a small wire 
broiler next to that. 

All this wildwood life outfit, the simplest possi- 
ble, was glanced at hurriedly by the visitors, for 
the hindquarter of a deer almost denuded of meat 
and gray with mould hung in the corner. A half- 
dozen bunches of fur pelts depended from the 
rafters and each exhaled a vile odor. 

“Suthin , queer ’bout this,” Old Renus asserted, 
after his hasty look around. “It’s a trapper’s 
shack all right ’n’ a white man’s, too. But it’s 
bin deserted since last spring or mebbe a year 
longer. ’N’ the poor cuss that built it is dead 
som’ers hereabout. Suthin’ happened to him 
sure’s a gun!” 

“But what?” queried Orlo anxiously, for to him 
it was all mysterious and tragic. 


71 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Oh, lots o’ things,” returned Old Renns, non- 
chalantly. He might ’a’ got ketched in a snow 
storm out tendin’ traps ’n’ froze to death. He 
might a broke a leg goin’ over a ledge ’n’ starved 
to death ’fore he conld crawl home. Or bein’ in 
the dead o’ winter, a big lynx might a tackled him 
in the woods. Whatever did happen must a bin 
late in the winter, fer here’s a good string o’ pelts. 
He went away carryin’ or wearin’ snowshoes — 
they ain’t here — ’n’ that skinned-off deer leg shows 
he’d lived here quite a spell.” 

A corroboration of this theory was found back 
of the cabin, in the shape of two deer heads and 
many bones gnawed and picked clean. The canoe, 
which Old Renus next examined anxiously, must 
have lain there over a year for its bark shelter 
was rotten and half-crushed down, and feeling of 
its canvas cover, he found that seemed rotten too. 
Old Renus, wise to woodlife, glanced around to 
note many other signs of the lapse of time, visible 
only to him; two faintly defined paths leading 
away from the open space where bushes had been 
cut and others had grown up ; many small bones, 
the skull of a bear and of two more deer bleached 
white lay along the base of the ledge below the 
cabin, and many more signs of similar suggestion. 
To the right of the cabin and built against a ledge 
stood a cobblestone smoke house covered by a 


72 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


broad flat stone, and just beyond he found a deep 
hole walled up with blackened stones, with a bed 
of ashes and black coal inside. 

“Some trapper come here years ago, I caPlate,” 
Old Renus now asserted prophetically, after a 
long scrutiny of this wildwood cabin inside and 
out. “He built himself a good warm shack in the 
fall. He got good and ready fer winter, too, same 
ez we hev. He probably trapped a b’ar, Tore 
they hole fer winter ’n’ pickled ’n’ smoked his 
hams. He dug ’n’ stoned up a bake hole, too, to 
bake beans in with a chunk o’ salted b’ar fat — ■ 
it’s better’n any pork. ’N’ mebbe a b’ar ham also. 
He must ’a’ come here ’bout the time we did fer it 
ud take one man all o’ two months to cuh’n’ tote 
logs to build sech a cabin. He probably found 
trappin’ good here too, ’n’ kept coinin’. I caPlate 
by the bed o’ chips in front, this cabin must ’a’ bin 
built three or four years. ’N’ it’s been over a 
year since he left it on his snowshoes ’n’ didn’t 
come back.” And then with this wildwood mys- 
tery thus explained, Old Renus returned to the 
canoe for a more critical inspection. 

“Cover’s as rotten ez punk,” he declared after 
turning it over and examining it carefully. “But 
the frame’s all right. Arter the fust freeze comes 
we’ll come over here ’n’ slide it ’long on the ice 
back with us. We kin then cover it ag’in with a 


6 


73 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

slice o’ our balloon ’n’ make it jest ez good ez new. 
The paddles are all right, too,” he added, picking 
one up. “I tell ye, boys, we’re in luck to hev 
found what we hev here. I’d cal’lated to git out 
the stuff f er a canoe this winter ’n’ cover it in the 
spring but now we needn’t.” 

He next led the way down to the brook, where 
their simple dinner was eaten and their thirst 
quenched. 

“We’ll hev coffee with our breakfast now fer a 
spell,” he declared, returning to the cabin, “ ’n’ 
salt on our meat, too. 

“Can’t we have a taste now?” Orlo asked eager- 
ly. And when a pinch of that precious condiment 
was given each of the boys, they smacked their 
lips, for never had salt tasted so good before. 

Old Renus then climbed up to a higher point 
of the ledge back of them, for a purpose only he 
understood. He knew the ways and methods of 
trappers : that they always sought out and located 
upon some good-sized wilderness stream where 
mink, martin, fisher, lynx, otter, beaver and the 
less valuable muskrat had their habitation. That 
when so located in early autumn, a line of dead- 
falls would be next constructed at suitable spots 
alongside the stream, with steel traps set in soft 
swampy places to catch the cunning beaver. Also 
that this line of traps, often two and three miles 


74 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


long, would be visited at least three times a week 
unless a blizzard prevented. He knew also that 
this unfortunate trapper had met death somehow, 
probably when going the rounds of his traps, and 
that they could easily be found by following the 
blazed trail all trappers make to guide them. 

And just now he wanted a few steel traps very 
much. 

He next surveyed this brook valley from his 
vantage point on the ledge and saw that it was 
narrow for a mile or more, and so would be easy 
to follow, and that beyond, it broadened out into 
a wide swamp of which it was the outlet. 

‘We’ll git an early start ’n’ come here tomor- 
row,” he announced, now returning to the cabin 
and watching the boys. “ ’N’ we’ll take back a 
few steel traps likewise. I cal’late I know whar 
to find ’em now. ’N’ if we don’t hev some fun 
with them pesky cats up in our neck o’ woods, it’s 
’cause I don’t know how to set a trap !” 

The two blankets were next brought out of the 
cabin. All the cooking utensils* and tin dishes 
were piled onto one and a pack made. To Orlo 
was intrusted the precious jar of salt, while the 
various other cans, dishes, etc., were made into 
another pack for Jim and Levi, and the start for 
home was made. 

It was almost dark ere they reached the shelter, 
75 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and they saw two of those pesky cats slink away 
and scamper along below the ledge. 

Bnt that did not disturb the boys now, and 
while Orlo wielded the ax they had secured — and 
were thankful for — Jim scrubbed the frying pan 
and coffee pot with sand, and Old Renus cut slices 
of venison to fry. That evening, squatting around 
their little sapling table on stones, they ate the 
most civilized and homelike meal in a month, for 
the fried rice cakes with deer fat were almost as 
good as bread and butter, the meat had salt on it, 
and the coffee with condensed cream tasted like 
nectar. 

“We’re goin’ to live to eat from now on,” Old 
Renus announced, smilingly. “I’m eal’latin’ to 
hev fried b’ar ham ’n’ b’ar pork, ’n’ both beat any 
pig meat by a mile. We’ve got two cans o’ pow- 
der ’n’ a slate oven ’n’ that means rice biscuit fer 
supper now ’n’ then. O’ course we got to pound 
rice into flour but that’s easy.” 

But the evening was a meditative one in spite 
of the satisfying supper and cheery campfire, for 
the boys kept wondering how. that lone and lonely 
trapper met his fate, while Old Renus listened for 
the howl of a wolf. 

Somehow the day’s discoveries and that trap- 
per’s probable fate, added to the human halloo-oo 
of a loon down in the big lake, and the weird 


76 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“hoo hoo-hoo” of a screech owl up in the forest, 
wrought an uncanny spell upon the boys’ feelings. 
It seemed that spooks might appear from out the 
dark wilderness. Recalling what Old Renus had 
told them of that lone cabin, Orlo felt that not for 
worlds would he creep up the shadowy path to 
that long deserted hut with its one staring win- 
dow hole and the bleaching bones back of it! 
An invisible presence also seemed to be lurking 
close by in the surrounding darkness. He could 
almost hear faint footsteps along the shadow of 
the ledge. A creaking came from its green 
overgrowth. A low click from the pebbles beside 
the lake shore ! 

Then as if to accentuate this ghostly presence — 
this invisible something — up from the ledge came 
the long snarling yaoul of a lynx! 

Then all the boys felt that the only safe place 
was inside their cabin with the door shut. 

But Old Renus only smiled down at the wist- 
ful, watching faces close by. 

“Don’t be skeered, boys,” he said soothingly, 
“thar ain’t a mite o’ danger. ’N’ I’m goin’ to gin 
that yowlin’ varmint suthin’ real to yowl about 
afore he’s many days older. You jest wait ’n’ 
watch me !” 


CHAPTER VIII 

O RL0 had fearsome dreams that night and 
grinning skulls leering out of shadows 
dominated them. He saw whitened bones 
all about, with gleaming yellow eyes glaring down 
at him and was finally wakened by the now fa- 
miliar yowl of a wildcat. But the closed door 
and one small window of their cabin seemed 
reassuring, and he fell asleep again very 
soon. 

Old Renus wakened all the boys at first light of 
dawn, and emerging from the cabin, Orlo noticed 
a peculiar feeling in the air and that all sounds 
were unusually distinct. A woodpecker’s “rat tat” 
was like a hammer striking stone, and a red squir- 
rel’s “chirr chut chut” almost echoed across the 
pond. 

“Thar’s a storm brewin’ ” the old trapper as- 
serted, noting these familiar signs. “Two o’ 
you boys best skip over to the lake bottom ’n’ tend 
the snares, while one helps me git breakfast. We 


78 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


want to make an early start over to that old cabin. 
It’ll rain tomorrow.” 

Orlo and Jim decided to visit the snares, and 
after a hasty “ashes” wash on the pond shore, 
picked up their clubs and started. Somehow the 
neck of woods they crossed to reach the open 
lake bottom, seemed more ominous than usual 
that morning; the mood of that lone deserted 
cabin with its tragic suggestions still dominating 
them. 

A good string of birds, ten in fact, rewarded 
them. Short bits of fence torn away and many 
feathers showed where a pilfering animal had 
made a meal. They did not wait to repair the 
gaps in the fence, but scampered back, to arrive 
just as breakfast was ready. A crimson sunrise 
was adding its own storm warning, and after mak- 
ing the cabin snug and secure they all hurried off. 
They halted neither to observe deer nor ducks on 
the way, but followed the lake shore on a dog trot 
until the black stream was reached. 

The deserted cabin also seemed more ominous 
to the boys, when they saw it, and almost like a 
tomb. Not one of them spoke as they drew near, 
nor did they peer in while Old Eenus mounted 
the ledge to look about and make sure of his di- 
rection. He, too, seemed a little subdued by time, 
place and their coming quest, and with a “Come 


79 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


on, boys, we hain’t no time to waste,” led them 
down into the dark, dismal swamp. The expected, 
blazed trail was soon spotted by him — gashes on 
trunks and lopped-off limbs — and with the brook’s 
murmur in hearing, they pushed on. In a dead- 
fall at the mouth of a narrow, dark ravine the 
first trap was found, and this one merits descrip- 
tion. It consisted of two rows of stakes driven 
into the earth close together ; a ten or twelve foot 
log as many inches in diameter, to be held up 
by a figure-four trap of stout saplings, was placed 
so as to fall lengthways onto this double row of 
stakes, and upon the animal that entered to secure 
the bait — usually half a muskrat carcass or a 
fish — secured to the end of a spindle projecting 
under the log. When this was set and baited, a 
few green boughs were thrown over it to conceal 
its deadly purpose. 

The log of this trap was down, the vicious teeth 
and skull of a wildcat lay beneath that, showing 
that a year or more must have elapsed since that 
prowler met his fate. But this was of scant in- 
terest to Old Renus, who merely noticed that grass 
and low bushes had grown up around the stake 
pen. He then turned down to the mouth of this 
dingle beside the brook. Here, as he expected, he 
found a steel trap — one of the small ten-inch size 
used for mink or muskrat — and in it one of the 


80 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


latter’s forepaws, and the trap lay beside a tiny 
rill and a stake to which its chain was fast. He 
glanced aronnd for another one, then hnng this 
trap to the limb of a blazed tree and pushed on. 
The trail was easy to follow in spite of the dark 
overgrown brook vale, for human footprints were 
plenty in all soft places with the stream close 
by. Three more traps were found within fifty 
rods, always at the mouth of some rill or dingle, 
and beside the main stream, and each was of the 
small size. Two held the bones of some animal 
paws, and one lay open where it was set between 
two sedge bogs. But those were not the traps Old 
Benus most wanted. He needed the heavy, double- 
spring kind used for lynx or bear. He led on 
hurriedly, the boys keeping close, for now being 
far into that dark swamp, where only occasional 
glimpses of sky were visible, and with the ghostly 
feeling still upon them, to lose sight of him would 
be horrible. 

Two more deadfalls were found, the logs down 
and half-hidden by newly grown ferns and scrub, 
and then Old Renus halted to glance up into a 
ledge opening, a few rods to the left. 

“Jest the spot fer a lynx trap,” he muttered, 
then pushed up to it, followed close by the scared 
boys. 

For it was a spooky spot ! 


81 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


An overhanging ledge on one side, a tangle of 
moss-coated boulders on the other, with a dense 
canopy over all — the hoys felt sure some fierce 
lynx might appear at any moment ! But Old Renus 
guessed right, for in front of this overhanging 
ledge stood the usual stake pen for such traps, 
and midway its little doors and closed, lay the 
big double-spring trap he wanted. 

And in it a few bones and feathers of a crow ! 

These were the first reassuring features so far 
to the boys, since they entered this dark, silent, 
uncanny swamp. 

But Old Renus never thought of their surround- 
ings, being intent only on his search for traps. 
He ducked under interlaced branches, rushed 
through tangled thickets, crawled over fallen and 
moss-coated logs, always keeping an eye open for 
the blazed trail and human footprints. He found 
a second big trap and four more small ones. The 
latter he hung on tree limbs to be taken on their 
return, but he and Orlo carried the two big ones. 
The boys were now not only growing quite weary, 
but more and more scared. While Old Renus had 
scarcely thought of the missing trapper whose 
trail he was following so eagerly, the boys had 
thought of nothing else from the moment they 
entered this uncanny swamp. Each extra dark 
thicket they crept through might shadow his 


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bleaching bones ! From beneath a moss-coated 
overhang of rock his skull might be grinning ! All 
the stories they had ever read of such gruesome 
finds kept recurring. They recalled pictures of 
pirates hung in chains. Of a mound of skulls some 
explorers had found in Africa. To cap the cli- 
max of their ghostly fears, they recalled the 
bleaching bones and grinning skull of an insane 
man named Crazy Gad, they had once found in the 
cellar of an old disused house ! 

“Hain’t we gone most far enough?” Orlo finally 
asked timidly. “It’s most noon, ain’t it?” 

“Wal, I guess so,” Old Renus admitted, glanc- 
ing up at a rift of overcast sky. “But I want to 
find one more big trap ’n’ then we’ll eat a bite ’n’ 
turn back. I s’pose ye must be gittin’ tired.” 

Just now the trail they were following turned 
away from the brook and up to harder soil. A 
bit of open was next crossed, and beyond it lay 
another gap in the ledge alongside of the brook 
valley. Towards this Old Renus hurried, leav- 
ing the boys a little behind. They pushed on to 
keep up however, and had just entered the thick, 
dark, spruce woods again, when Orlo chanced to 
glance down, then leaped back with an affrighted, 
“Oh, Renus, Renus, Lordy, come here !” 

He had almost trodden upon a grinning human 
skull ! 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


A rod away, half buried under scratched up 
spruce needles and mould were the whitened bones 
of a skeleton ! 

Further away in shadow and around the foot 
of two spruce trunks close together, lay two huge 
wolf! skulls, from one of which protruded the 
handle of a small camp ax. Still another wolf 
skull leered out from a thicket of ferns where lay 
more whitened bones! Taking all in all, it was 
the most gruesome and uncanny sight those scared 
boys had ever seen. 

To add tragic interest, a trapper’s winter coat 
of fur-lined deerskin, torn into pieces, was next 
found. A single boot gnawed and torn by sharp 
teeth lay near. The toe of another pointed up 
from a pile of mould. Scattered shreds of red 
flannel lay all about, and beside the tree trunks 
were a pair of snowshoes. 

“Here’s all that’s left o’ our trapper,” Old 
Eenus declared mournfully, and with a head- 
shake after his horrified look around. “ ’Twas 
wolves that et him up,” he added, stooping to pick 
up the camp ax embedded in the skull of one. 
“Jerusalem, but he must a struck hard to so sunk 
it in a skull !” 

“Here’s his knife,” Orlo exclaimed, spying the 
horn handle of a hunter’s sheath knife protruding 
from a mound of pawed-up earth. Then Old 


84 


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Renus held these two red rusted, mute tokens of 
a life or death fight up to the light, and glanced 
down at the white fanged skulls again. 

A grim sense of their own danger from the 
same savage brutes came over him. But not a 
hint of it appeared in his glum, wrinkled face. 

“The poor cuss fit hard fer his life,” he con- 
tinued. “My notion is he fust heard ’em cornin’ 
near here ’n’ yanked off his snowshoes, cal’latin’ 
to climb one o’ these big spruces, but mebbe didn’t 
hev time ’fore they war onto him. Or mebbe he 
knew that meant freezin’ anyway. Then he must 
a yanked out his knife ’n’ ax ’n’ fit ez I wouldn’t 
want to. Struck right ’n’ left at ’em till he sunk 
his ax into the skull ’o one ’n’ then, ’twas all over 
in a minute. 

“O’ course the rest war onto him in no time ’n’ 
tore him into shreds. Then eat up those he’d 
killed. That’s the way they do. ’N’ they gnawed 
every bone clean, ’n’ even chawed up the poor 
devil’s boots to git at his feet. 

“But whar’s his rifle!” he added, as that in- 
evitable possession of a trapper recurred to Old 
Renus. “He’d sure have one with him.” Then 
all began a hasty search for that, to them a more 
than precious prize just now. 

But nowhere among the whitened, fern-hidden 
bones, or under the mounds of pawed-up spruce 


85 


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needles, was any rifle found. They looked back 
of the two trees, out into the tangle of scrub 
growth and broken ledge, peered into the thickets 
and back to the bones again. 

But the dead trapper’s rifle, his most needed 
friend and companion, was missing ! 

“I can’t ’count for ’t,” Old Renus added, quite 
nonplussed now, “ ’less somebody come along ’n’ 
took it. ’N’ I hain’t seen but one man’s track all 
through this swamp.” 

For another long moment he stared down at 
those ghastly bones as if dazed, while the boys’ 
hearts began to thump again at a new sense of 
danger, and then looking furtively around and 
keeping close to their protector, they followed 
him up to the gap in the ledge. 

There, leaning against a rock lay the rifle ! 

And as if to mock at human tragedies and scoff 
at time, a creeping vine, now scarlet leaved, had 
wound itself around stock and barrel. Beside the 
rifle lay another coveted big trap and a pair of 
mouldy buckskin mittens, half hidden under 
sifted spruce needles. Just beyond, also, in front 
of a cobblestone pen, was a second double-spring 
trap. 

To Old Renus the tragic tale was now all told. 
This lone trapper had come here in midwinter or 
early spring on snowshoes. A pack of wolves 


86 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


had trailed him like grim, silent avengers. He, 
hearing them not, had laid down his rifle and taken 
off his mittens to set a trap, then, seeing or hear- 
ing the white-fanged brntes, had run to the double 
trees to climb one. He had yanked off his snow- 
shoes to do so, but was too late. In final despera- 
tion he had, with ax and knife, fought his last 
battle for life. 

“We’ll bury the poor devil’s bones,” Old Renus 
said, after recounting this probable outcome. “Ez 
we’re takin’ most o’ his belonging’s, that’s the least 
we kin do.” With sharpened sticks, a shallow hole 
was soon dug at the foot of the two spruces, and 
the unknown trapper’s bones hidden from human 
sight. 

Never before in those boys’ lives had a funeral 
seemed quite so tragic. 

To get away from that uncanny spot and out 
of that somber, spookish swamp was now all they 
thought of. And well Old Renus knew it. But 
not until mid-afternoon, when the vacant cabin 
was reached, did they think of food or wish to 
eat. 

By this time a black pall had hidden the sun, 
and rain seemed close at hand. “I’ll jest take a 
look ’round in the cabin,” Old Renus said after 
the hasty lunch, “ ’n’ see if I kin find some shells 
fer the rifle. It’s purty rusty, o’ course, but I 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


guess I kin clean it up. If I kin find some shells, 
Pll feel lots better.” How much better, or rather, 
safer, he did not dare tell the boys. 

He searched the dark cabin once more quite 
hurriedly and found many things almost priceless 
to them all just now. A box under the bunk con- 
tained some camp candles, a cake of soap, a clean 
towel and a tin box of matches; another had 
needles, two spools of coarse thread and some 
buttons in it. Two squares of tobacco were also 
in this medley and all were needful to the cast- 
aways. Three pairs of woolen socks and two red 
flannel shirts were also found hidden under one 
end of the bunk bed, and beneath it a small bundle 
of tipe all rigged for ice fishing, and, almost as 
valuable in the eyes of Old Renus, a quart bottle 
of kerosene. 

But, search high or low, not a solitary shell for 
the rifle could he find. 

“Must ’a’ hid ’em in the rocks some’ers,” he said 
to the boys, who had been peeping into the malo- 
dorous cabin, and watching him. “Looks like rain 
Tore long,” he added, coming out and glancing 
skyward. Then Orlo, who had seen a prospect of 
a better way of fishing when he espied the bunch 
of lines wound on tipe, asked why the canoe 
couldn’t be taken along to be re-covered at once. 

“We can tow it ’long shore,” he said, “with 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


one of us to push it out with a pole can’t we? And 
stop to empty the water out now and then.” 

“O’ course, V we’ll do it, ’nother day,” as- 
sented Old Renus. “Pd thought o’ that myself. 
’N’ ’twould gin you boys a few days fer trollin’ 
on the big lake ’for snow comes. But we’d better 
hurry home now, ’fore it rains.” Then, stringing 
the traps on a pole for two to carry, and divid- 
ing the other things, the start was made, and the 
boys were more than glad to get back on the open 
lake shore, for from that hour that dark, dismal 
swamp and lone, deserted cabin had become un- 
canny and spook infested. 

To Orlo, as he trudged along carrying a bundle 
made of the two snowshoes, the shirts, camp 
candles and fishing lines once belonging to the 
dead trapper , a realization of the pathetic side of 
this episode now came. They were, under the 
circumstances, quite justified in thus appropriat- 
ing his possessions, he felt, and yet it seemed piti- 
ful. He began to see the life of that solitary trap- 
per as it had been, coming here alone with the 
simplest outfit possible to sustain life. Building 
himself a snug cabin, going into that dismal 
swamp to blaze his way and set traps where no 
human beings ever came, and where fierce lynx, 
wildcats and wolves abounded. To cook and eat 
his simple meals all alone, from autumn until 


7 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


spring, with only the yowling of night prowlers 
and weird calls of loons for company; and then 
to have it all end as it had by a horrible, tragic 
fate. 

He conld also see that unkempt, lonely man 
with his back against the two spruce trees, knife 
and ax in hand, striking at those big, white-fanged 
wolves, who finally devoured him. Once Orlo had 
fancied the life of a trapper must be the most 
romantic and alluring one possible. That to live 
in a far-away, wilderness, log cabin, and fish, hunt 
and trap for a living, would be idyllic beyond com- 
pare. But that charming illusion was fast leav- 
ing him now, and he began to wonder how any 
sane man could undertake it. Fear of starvation, 
of wild animals, of the dread winter, had domi- 
nated him from the first moment he set foot in 
this unknown, pathless wilderness, and was still 
with him. 

In lesser degree, a little of the romance had 
come with the hut-building, bird-snaring and 
deer-killing episodes, but fear had been the 
most prominent. And now that fear meant — 
wolves ! 

He had heard the two distant howls from them 
as Old Benus had. He had questioned him, only 
to receive merely a nonchalant answer, but now, 
in the light of this gruesome happening, it occur- 


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red to him that Old Reims had a purpose in thus 
evading the matter. 

“Will wolves be apt to come round our cabin 
after snow comes f” Orlo asked, catching up to 
him on the shore. 

“Wal, mebbe, they might,” Old Renus answered, 
smiling down at him. “They git purty bold then. 
But we’ll head ’em off, so don’t worry,” he added, 
lightly. “Now we got two axes to work with, I’m 
going to build a high barricade ’round our hut 
jest to keep you boys feelin’ safer. Likewise, if a 
wolf should call on us, he’d most likely sheer off. 
They’re skeery o’ jumpin’ over fences, fearin’ it 
may mean a trap.” And so Orlo was temporarily 
assured. 

It was almost dark when they reached the 
cabin and rain was pattering in the pond. But 
their fire was soon rekindled and blazing. Four 
partridges, two in the frying pan and two on a 
wire broiler, were set cooking. The coffeepot be- 
gan simmering, and in a few minutes a good meal 
was ready. It was, owing to the rain, now eaten 
in the cabin, and by the light of a camp candle. 
A fire was next started in their crude fireplace, 
and the situation made cheery. Old Renus filled a 
full pipe this time, and puffed away in satisfied 
content. 

“We might be wuss off, a lot wuss,” he said 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


later as they all reclined in front of the glowing 
fire. But the boys thought only of that lone, de- 
serted cabin, the dismal swamp and the grinning 
skulls ! 


CHAPTER IX 

F INDING the lone trapper’s cabin and his 
bones did not disturb Old Renus to any ex- 
tent. He was well used to such wilderness 
episodes. In fact two similar ones had come un- 
der his personal observation many years before, 
one of a trapper who had both hands caught in a 
lynx trap he was setting, and thus helpless, had 
set out for a lumber camp twenty miles distant 
and died on the way. Another of a hunter lost in 
the woods one fall and found by Old Renus and 
another lumberman the next spring — or, rather, 
all that the wildcats had left of him. Many other 
tragic happenings of the same import had been 
heard of by this old woodsman, so he had come 
to expect them as part of wildwood life. He was 
thankful that so many needful articles of camp 
life — and a few luxuries, like candles and tobacco 
— had come to them, and more than thankful for 
the two axes. He was considerably alarmed over 
the evident danger from wolves later on, and now 


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felt almost positive that, soon after snow came, 
some roving band of them would discover their 
camp. He knew how keen of scent they were, be- 
ing able to detect the smell of cooking meat many 
miles away, or follow a human trail long after 
it was buried under foot-deep snow. He knew 
their habits also, and that once they found a 
hunter’s or lumbering camp, they would lurk 
around it for weeks or until starvation drove 
them away, and so for these reasons he felt 
worried. 

He had at first planned a stake fence around 
the cabin. Now, lounging in front of their fire 
that first rainy evening, broader plans occurred 
to him. First, for safety sake, he thought it wise 
to cut and build a barricade of birch saplings fully 
ten feet high all about it. The boys had already 
cut almost a cord of these. Double that would be 
needed — and there were groves of them close by. 
He also saw how two narrow sheds could be made 
by laying poles and covering them with boughs 
over the side spaces between the fence and the 
cabin. He also planned to set up a large slate 
stone under one shed, a double-decked one, to en- 
close and bake rice cakes in. They were easy to 
make now with flour of pounded rice, baking pow- 
der and deer fat. He meant also to get a bear, now 
that he had secured the big traps. He had noticed 


94 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and located a good spot to trap one, np in the 
blowdown. A cave was there, under a shelf of 
rock over which a tree had fallen and spruce 
scrub had since grown. He had seen bear tracks 
near this place, and had noticed that tufts of grass 
and wintergreen leaves had been carried into this 
den, proof to him that some cunning bear had 
selected it for his winter sleep. 

He knew how to set and bait a bear trap. First, 
to rub it well with scorched deer fat, to get some 
aromatic roots and brown them over fire to tuck 
under the trap. Wild honey was the best bait, 
molasses nearly as good, but he had neither now. 
He had noticed a beech tree, however, and knew 
that a handful of those nuts properly roasted 
was prime bait for a bear. 

He meant also to trap a few lynx and bobcats 
now that he had the right traps, and for them fish 
was the one best bait. He needed their skins for 
bedclothes in the coming zero weather. Alto- 
gether, he foresaw that they had much to do to 
get those ready for winter. 

“I guess two on ye best go tend the snares,” he 
directed, the next morning while cooking. “’N’ 
not mind the rain. We can’t ’ford to in fact. ’N’ 
we’ll need more birds ’n we’re likely to git, also. 
Arter it clears off, we’ll all go over to the lake 
bottom ’n’ set up more fences on the east side. But 


95 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


fer steady work it’s cuttin’ birch saplin’s now fer a 
spell.” 

Orlo and Jim scampered over to the lake bottom, 
paying no heed to the driving rain — for they were 
getting hardened to wildwood life now — and found 
ten birds had been caught in the eighteen snares 
set there, and that two more had been eaten by a 
fox. They saw the fox, too, sneaking away with 
a part of one bird, and noted that he was of the 
blue species. 

“Jings, but I’d like to catch a few of them !” ex- 
claimed Orlo. “They’re worth fifty dollars apiece, 
I’ve heard.” 

“Let’s ask Old Eenus to let us,” rejoined Jim, 
who, like Orlo, was always short of pocket money. 
And to both it seemed that this was a rare chance 
to garner many dollars. They had, of course, up 
to this time, realized that to build a secure shelter 
and lay in an ample supply of food for winter 
must be their sole thought. But with a dozen 
long strips of smoked venison now hanging from 
each pole rafter of their cabin, with full four 
dozen birds drawn and stuffed with scorched win- 
tergreen leaves, packed in the lean-to, and the 
wicker basket full of wild rice, they felt no need 
to worry about food. Besides, snaring birds only 
meant picking them up along the fence, so to 
speak, and with ten small steel traps in hand, the 


96 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


boys felt it to be almost a crime not to set them 
for such valuable pelts. But they were loyal to 
their hero and protector, and after resetting the 
snares, they hurried back to help him cut the small 
white birches into eight-foot sticks and carry them 
to the cabin. 

By mid-afternoon the rain had ceased, and the 
old man, after rigging poles for two of the boys 
to fish with in the pond, took Orlo, and with two 
big traps, hurried away to set them for lynx or 
bobcats. One was set beside a tall rock near the 
lower end of the blowdown, in the usual manner, 
at the entrance to a small pen of driven stakes, 
with a trout impaled on a stick for bait. A few 
spruce boughs were next thrown over this pen to 
hide human handiwork. The second trap was 
placed at the entrance to a narrow gap in the 
ledge opposite, and then, after gathering a hand- 
ful of beechnuts and pulling up a few wild par- 
snips to roast and bait the bear trap with later, 
Old Renus and Orlo returned to the pond to see 
what Jim and Levi were doing. 

And those boys were having the time of their 
lives pulling one- to two-pound trout out as fast 
as they could bait their hooks ! 

Their rods were no better than those used to 
catch pouts with at home, being green alder poles 
with the tipe lines from the deserted cabin. For 


97 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


bait they bad caught a few minnows in the brook 
above. The sun was now out and shining just be- 
low the trees, leaving them in shadow, and it 
seemed as if that four-acre pond was fairly alive 
with trout. No matter whether a live minnow was 
cast to them or a bit of dead one, the moment it 
struck the water, two or three greedy trout leaped 
for’it. The boys already had more than they could 
all eat at a dozen meals now tossed into a rock 
depression. They had used up all their minnows, 
and had then cut a small trout up for bait, which 
appeared to be just as good, and a trout was 
yanked out as fast as a hook could be baited. 

“Better let up,” Old Benus advised, after 
watching the excited boys a few moments. “We 
can’t eat half ye got now. ’N’ ’fore ye go fishin’ 
ag’in, we’ll go ’n’ dam up a deep hole in the brook 
’bove here to keep ’em alive. Trout’ll come mighty 
handy to us when the ice is two feet thick on the 
pond ’n’ snow ’bout six. No use in wastin’ good 
trout if they are plenty.” 

That supper of trout, properly salted and fried 
in deer fat, with hot coffee and rice cakes, eaten 
just as twilight came, was one of the best so far 
enjoyed. There were a few features that made it 
so. First, they could and did eat with clean hands 
and from tin plates, which was much more enjoy- 
able than eating from the clay ones now soaked 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


with grease. The coffeepot and tin cnps were 
bright from sand scrubbing. They conld sit at a 
low table over which a piece of the balloon was 
spread, and all these semi-civilized aids counted. 
Once those boys had imagined that a wildwood 
life, with fish and game aplenty to live upon, 
would be the acme of joy, but they had had no 
definite idea of how such food would be cooked or 
eaten. Home appliances for proper cooking with 
other additions to meals had not been a part of 
their charming illusion, but all that had appealed 
to them was its romance. 

Now they had been plunged into a real wilder- 
ness, with fish and game more plentiful than they 
ever dreamed possible, and they had captured or 
caught more than they could eat, with little effort. 
But for three weeks these fish and game meals 
had served only to keep them from starving, and 
had been eaten about as monkeys would have 
eaten them ; and so untidy, so savage-like had this 
eating with fingers become, that tin plates and 
iron knives and forks seemed luxuries, and a tin 
cup of coffee tasted like ambrosia. 

To Old Eenus it was all a matter of course and 
to be expected in the woods. His home life in 
his old rookery never had been much better; a 
clean deal table without a cover, tin dishes and no 
napkins, had about measured it. 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


But the boys had not complained, and by this 
time fully realized that the wise woodcraft of the 
old hunter was all that had saved them from 
starvation. With a thick-walled cabin to sleep 
warm and dry in when it rained, an open fire and 
a candle to light it, with fish and game in plenty, 
besides a chance to set a few traps, the romance 
and charm of wildwood life seemed to return once 
more. Even the lurking fear of wolves in Orlo’s 
mind began to fade away, and as he lay stretched 
in front of their open fire that evening, watching 
Old Renus cleaning the rusty rifle with his knife, 
a rag and bottle of kerosene, meanwhile puffing 
his cob pipe with unction, he began to count his 
blessings, as the old man had so often advised 
him to do. Luck had been with them from the 
very start, as evidenced by finding the lone trap- 
per’s cabin, and the plentitude of fish and game. 

But the fine old hero with his wise forethought 
was best of all. 

A minor bit of luck came a little later when 
Old Renus, in breaking the rifle apart, found that 
its magazine held six shells. He removed them 
carefully with the lever, and kept on cleaning the 
rusted parts, until, with more' oil applied, the valu- 
able weapon was in working order again. 

“Now, you can shoot a bear or lynx, can’t you, 
Uncle Renus V 9 asked Jim. 


100 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Wal, I kin sartin,” he answered, returning the 
shells and closing the rifle. “But jes now I guess 
I won’t. We may need them shots more’n we do 
now, later on. When we git our woodpile built 
around our cabin, we’ll go fetch that canoe ez you 
boys want, ’n’ then we’ll cover it ’n’ you kin hev a 
few days’ fun with it on the big lake. I’m cal’latin’ 
to try ’n’ find that trapper’s shells when we go thar 
ag’in. I fiigger he must a hid ’em outside. But 
we won’t shoot any o’ these jest yit, boys.” 

Then Orlo thought of wolves once more. 

The next morning the boys were up at dawn 
with Old Renus and all were astonished to find a 
flock of ducks that half covered their pond, had 
lit in during the night, and were now swimming 
about and diving in care-free manner. They rose, 
however, with much quacking and splashing as 
the four appeared from the cabin and swung away 
in harrow shape to light on the big lake beyond. 

“They come to git a feed of wild rice,” Old 
Renus then announced, chuckling, “but we got 
ahead on ’em. 

“It’s curi’s,” he added, “how that thing works 
out with wild ducks. A few out o’ that flock, 
mebbe a pair or two, I cal’late, came here a year 
ago ’n’ filled up on the rice, then went on South. 
Now, a year arter, those old ones had a flock here 
ag’in. ’N’ thar ye be.” 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


“But how did the old ones tell the rest?” Jim 
asked eagerly. 

“Wal, they did, that’s plain ’nuff,” came the 
positive answer. “ ’N’ so do all animals talk to 
one ’nother. Pve seen it proved out many a time. 
’N’ that’s what makes ’em grow wild soon ’ez we 
git after ’em with guns ’n’ traps. They ain’t so 
here ye notice.” 

But trap-setting — the one chief allurement of 
most farm boys — now appealed to them with in- 
creasing force. So much so that the next morn- 
ing Orlo begged the old man to go and set their 
ten small traps for mink and fox. 

“We’ll do it,” he answered them smilingly, “jest 
ez soon ez we git our woodpile wall built up. 
Then I cal’late we’ll all sleep better. No tellin’ 
what night prowler ’ll come snoopin’ ’round our 
place.” 

A little sport came after breakfast, when Old 
Renus led the boys to take a look at the two traps 
set for the marauding cats that had so annoyed 
them. Following close behind him, Jim and Levi 
almost quivered, for neither had ever set eyes 
upon one of these fierce animals, and the lynx 
that Orlo saw had made him tremble. But as they 
drew near to the first trap and peered through the 
bushes they saw a striped cat-shaped creature 
nearly three feet long with pointed ears and vici- 


102 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ous yellow eyes, leap upward with a snarl of 
anger. 

“Bobcat, by Jove !” Old Renus shouted gleefully, 
“Pll larn ye to steal our birds, blast ye !” And 
the blows he next dealt this snarling beast proved 
how he felt. Another cat equally as fierce was 
found safe in the second trap, and dispatched 
speedily, and both traps having been set and baited 
again, the boys returned to camp. 

“Two on ye kin go at snare-settin’ now ’n’ one 
work with me a day, then swap ‘round ’n’ so on in 
turn,” Old Renus then directed, knowing how the 
boys felt. “We’ve got stuff enough cut fer our 
job, ’n’ I want ye boys to hev all the fun ye kin 
while fun’s goin’.” He and Orlo, who chose to 
stay with him, then set about the barricade build- 
ing, while Jim and Levi betook themselves to the 
lake bottom to construct more snare fences. 
Then Orlo, who had, ever since they found the old 
trapper’s bones, been growing more positive that 
Old Renus was worried about wolves, determined 
to find out. 

“Do you think we are in much danger from 
wolves, Uncle Renus?” he asked, as they began 
work. “You act so, and I don’t think you want 
us to know it.” 

“Wal, sorter ’n’ sorter not,” the old man 
answered, vaguely. “Wolves are ’round here I 


103 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


know. They ain’t like to bother ns much till they 
begin to band together arter snow comes ’n’ they 
find less to eat. Then they’ll grow bolder. 
They’re the most savage critters in these woods, 
anyways, but even they are a leetle skeered o’ 
humans ’less they’re in packs. ’N’ then ye got to 
watch out. But you needn’t worry, Orlo. I know 
the critters ’n’ we’ll head ’em off.” 

“But can’t they jump over any wall we can 
build ?” 

“Not apt to, if it’s high enough, say ten feet or 
more. ’N’ then they’re sorter cowards in a way, ’n’ 
a wall like ours is to be ’ll ’pear like a trap to 
’em. To a single one anyway.” 

“But if a pack comes ’round they will stay and 
watch us, how long?” Orlo persisted anxiously. 

“Wal, thar’s no tellin’. I’ve known a pack to 
hang ’round a lumber camp till every one war 
shot, fourteen on ’em ’n’ it took over a week. 
They run in packs o’ ’bout six or eight usually. 
They come ’n’ go ez onsartin ez the wind. Hang 
’round two or three days, then off ag’in. ’N’ liable 
to show up ag’in in a day or two, ’thout even a 
yep. Just appear like so many spooks. When 
they’re on track o’ a deer or moose, they’ll run like 
a hound but never bark once all day. 

“We’ll be safe enough in our cabin inside o’ 
the wall, even if a pack on ’em does come ’round,” 


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CAME CASTAWAY 


lie added, assuringly. “Only we wouldn’t dare 
go further away ’n’ down to the pond. We may 
be shut up soon arter snow comes, but that’s the 
most we need worry ’bout.” 

But Orlo was not entirely assured. He had 
begun to get used to the plentitude of lynx and 
wildcat about, and to their frequent yowling; he 
was also confident that the assurances of Old 
Benus were to be relied upon, and that they were 
in no danger at present. But this wall building 
seemed ominous, and the prospect of being kept 
prisoners for weeks in their stone hut by a pack 
of dreaded wolves was not pleasant to anticipate. 

But Jim and Levi returned at midday with a 
good string of birds, also with the announcement 
that they had seen two more foxes, one blue and 
one of the common yellow species, and also they 
had seen a mink just emerging from the pond with 
a trout in its mouth, and so trap-setting for such 
valuable furs now banished wolves from Orlo’s 
mind for the present. 


8 


CHAPTER X 

O LD RENUS was not only wise in wood- 
craft and woodlife, but during his many 
years’ wanderings before he settled down 
in Oakham “to live sorter civilized,” as he put 
it, in an old abandoned house, he had traveled far 
and seen much. He had, as a young man, been a 
cowboy on a far Western ranch, later on a mine 
prospector in Nevada, a helper at a Columbia 
River salmon cannery, a lumberman in Oregon 
and Michigan, a cook in a Maine lumber camp, a 
fisherman on Lake Superior and a worker in one 
of the copper mines of that country for a brief 
time. He had shot buffalo when the plains teemed 
with them, also grizzlies, elk, mountain lions, 
panther, and all kinds of bears except the Arctic 
white ones. But mainly he had been a trapper 
around the lower Hudson Bay or along its scores 
of tributary lakes and streams. He had led this 
wandering life mainly for sight-seeing. 

He had gathered a few hundred dollars to se- 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


cure himself in his old age and this money was now 
safe in Oakham’s one savings bank, but freedom 
from all civilized restraint was as the breath 
of life for him, and he would not have lived in an 
ordinary furnished home and worn civilized rai- 
ment if he could. For this reason his habits of 
life and living since he settled down in Oakham 
stamped him as a nondescript at least, and one 
who might rob poultry roosts if game failed him. 
How far he had wandered he had never men- 
tioned to any one in Oakham, and not until these 
three boys had become boon companions of his, 
and he had told them stories around his open fire 
on chilly evenings, did anyone in that quiet town 
learn what a wide wanderer he had been. 

Despite his semi-vagabond and hermit-like way 
of existence, Old Renus was not what he seemed 
to be, for in reality he was a true nature-wor- 
shiper, an admirer of all that was grand and 
beautiful, and a keen judge of human nature; an 
intense lover of children, he was pure-souled and 
generous-hearted. He hated shams, hypocrisy 
and all sanctimonious people who believed them- 
selves the anointed of the Lord. These, however, 
did not concern him overmuch. What he did care 
for, and live for, was the company and atfection 
of these three boys he had in a way attached to 
himself, Orlo being his favorite. 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


This was Old Reims, a unique old nondescript 
with a background of forest, field and stream, to 
whom the song of birds was sweetest music, and 
the billowing of green meadows and laughter of 
brooks as so many poems. 

He knew how all Oakham would feel towards 
him for this escapade — for which he was entirely 
blameless — and he had already resolved that un- 
less he could take these boys back, well and hearty, 
he would never set foot in the town again. 

He had had a few hard problems to solve in his 
life, but never any to compare with this one that 
had been thus thrust upon him, the problem of tak- 
ing care of these boys through six months of 
Canadian winter in this wilderness well up to- 
wards Hudson Bay, as he now feared they must 
be. 

Luck so far had favored him, luck that seemed 
almost a miracle, especially finding the dead trap- 
per’s cabin. But he was not much of a believer in 
luck, and he knew that no luck could possibly 
checkmate the rigors of winter where they were, 
or guard them against the ferocious lynx and 
wolves. 

So that was why every thought so far and 
every hour of daylight had been devoted to the 
solution of this problem. He had had his eyes 
open also to needs beyond food and shelter, and 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


had already gathered a few simple roots and herbs 
of medicinal nature that only an experienced 
woodsman like himself knew the value of. But 
food, warmth and protection from wolves were 
most needed now. He already had deer meat 
enough, smoked and hanging in the cabin, to last 
until spring. He meant to kill two more deer just 
before snow came, hang them outside to freeze, and 
then bury these under slabs of slate to protect 
them from prowling cats. He knew the boys 
would bring in plenty of birds before that time, 
and so, now building his barricade, he felt “pre- 
paredness” was well under way. 

With Orlo helping, he built his bulwark open, 
that is, two rows of sticks laid on short cross 
pieces with spaces between to fill with spruce 
boughs, to keep out the wind and driving snow 
as well as wolves. He would also save all the 
refuse for fuel. He had his barricade, over eight 
feet high, almost built up ere nightfall drew near 
again, when Jim and Levi returned, bringing more 
birds. 

“We might lay poles over the two spaces on 
either side of the cabin, and by putting boughs on 
them, have two sheds to keep wood under,” Jim 
suggested. 

“Wal, I’m calPathT to,” smiled Old Renus. 
“That is, one fer wood, hT tother to shut up by 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


some extra big sticks, to bang birds in. , N* a 
couple ’o deer to let freeze. I ain’t cal’latin’ on 
goin’ hungry this winter. Tomorrow it’ll be dry 
’nuff to set a b’ar trap — I know whar — ’n’ in a 
couple o’days more two on us workin’ here ’ll hev 
the snuggest kind o’ camp.” 

“Mebbe Orlo ’n’ I better go ’n’ fetch that old 
canoe here fust,” he added, after a moment’s 
thought. “I want to find whar that trapper hid 
his shells. We could use a few now quite handy ’n’ 
save me a lot o’ fuss in gettin’ the two deer I want. 
Frozen venison is better ’n smoked. 

“Thar’s a lot to do yet,” he continued, cleaning 
some trout to fry while the boys started the fire. 
“But many hands make light work. Once we git 
things snug here, we kin all go fishin’ or trappin’. 
Pd like ye boys to hev a good string o’ furs to take 
out in the spring, say ’bout five hundred wuth 
apiece, o’ blue fox ’n’ mink. ’T would come handy 
when fair time comes. I don’t cal’late you’ll want 
to try a balloon ag’in, howsomever.” And then 
Old Benus smiled at his well-beloved charges. 

“I guess we all better help you here and get 
things fixed up,” Jim next suggested. “We built 
four more snare fences today. We’ve got seven 
over there now. Two of us can go tend ’em morn- 
ing and night, and that will do.” 

“Pm willin’,” smiled Old Benus, well pleased 


no 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


at this plan. “ ’N’ tomorrow Orlo ’n’ I’ll go fetch 
the canoe while ye two kin cut ’n’ bring more birch 
arter tendin’ the snares.” 

That evening was made more homelike and con- 
soling to all by reason of that enclosure, for, re- 
clining about their outside fire, it seemed as if 
they were now safe from all night prowlers or 
chilly winds in the future. A little redoubt to 
make their stone hut doubly safe. 

“We kin live here snug ez a bug in a rug this 
winter,” the old man said, voicing this while he 
smoked in serene content. “We kin roof over all 
the spaces ’cept in front o’ the cabin with poles ’n’ 
spruce boughs. When it snows we kin shovel it 
out. Now we got axes, I kin make shovels. We 
kin cook out here under cover ’n’ out o’ the wind 
with wood all dry. Fact I think we best cut ’n’ 
split a lot ’n’ pile it inside to be handy. We’ve 
got two skins already towards keepin’ warm. 
We’ll hev plenty more ’fore long; ’n’ we sartinly 
hev meat to burn. Quite a little better off ’n we 
war four weeks ago when we crawled out o’ that 
basket most froze ’n’ nothin’ but half-cooked brook 
suckers to eat, ain’t we, boys V ’ 

And that was Old Eenus all over. Always 
counting his blessings and seeing the silver lining. 
It is no wonder the boys idolized him as a hero 
beyond compare. 


ill 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


The trip he and Orlo made the next day to the 
deserted cabin to fetch the canoe added a little 
to their meager stores. For Old Renus, wise to 
the ways of trappers, made a more careful search 
for hidden things, and found two tin pails nearly 
full of corn meal and flour hanging under the 
bunk, a tin box of hard-tack and, equally valuable, 
a tin baker, covered over by spruce boughs in one 
corner of the cabin. A bag of coarse salt he 
found in a niche back of the chimney, and four 
more tin plates under the dry boughs in the bunk. 
Beside these lay a deerskin pouch with a few dol- 
lars in Canadian coin. A dozen of the valuable 
shells were discovered in an empty tobacco pouch 
pushed into a chink between two of the log walls, 
over which a bit of bark had been tacked, and 
under a flat stone beside the fireplace were a 
handful of nails and with them a stick of solder. 
Outside, under the canoe, lay a rusted stewpan, 
and in it a blackened coffeepot. But nowhere 
inside or out of the hut could any more shells be 
found. 

“He must ’a’ hid ’em ’way from the cabin,” Old 
Renus asserted, after the long search, “fer plenty 
o’ ammunition is the one thing a trapper needs 
most. ’N’ he don’t waste it either. Ez this hut must 
’a’ bin built quite a few years, it shows that he 
nachly left everything he didn’t need goin’ out, ’n’ 


112 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


so the last time in he must a brought a lot o’ shells. 
They ’r’ outside under some shelf o’ rock or small 
cave.” 

But an hour’s search failed to find them. 

Two empty wooden boxes were found back of 
the cabin under dry boughs, and tucked into the 
log wall was a broken-handled ax. “We kin fix 
that,” Old Renus declared, adding it to their col- 
lection and packing all into the two boxes, “but 
I hate to gin up those shells.” 

“We’d better be startin’ back, howsomever,” he 
added, glancing at the sun, “ ’n’ call ourselves 
lucky to find what we hev. These things ’ll all 
come in handy.” 

A clue to where the trapper came from was also 
found in the name “St. Maurice, P. Q.,” on a strip 
of box cover. 

“Wal, that looks like luck, too,” Old Renus 
ejaculated on reading it, “fer that’s the name o’ 
one o’ the longest feeders o’ the St. Lawrence ’n’ 
settlement at the mouth on’t. It’s ’bout four hun- 
dred miles long, too, and runs north ’n’ then west. 
I war up it once to the mouth o’ Vermillion River, 
whar it split into four streams ’n’ I cal’late we 
must be at the head o’ one on ’em. I war ’fraid 
we’d fetch up on the Hudson Bay watershed ’n’ 
that would a bin bad fer us. Taken us over two 
months to git home arter we got to a settlement, 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


’n’ by steamer ont o’ Hudson Bay at that. If we 
are whar I guess, it’ll take us all o’ a month to 
reach the St. Lawrence ’bout halfway up to Mon- 
treal. I hope it ’ll prove out so.” 

It needed two trips to carry the canoe and their 
findings to the lake now. That craft was found 
to leak but little, and much to Orlo’s joy, they 
were enabled to paddle home by keeping close to 
shore. 

“Mebbe we kin spread melted pitch over the 
bottom so to use it till the lake freezes,” Old 
Renus declared, as they drew the canoe out on 
the shore nearest to camp. “But we must cover 
it ’fore we start out in the spring. We couldn’t 
run three hundred miles o’ river ez it is with lots 
o’ rapids ’n’ carries.” Then thrusting the long 
steel-shod setting-pole belonging to the canoe over 
the bank, Old Renus and Orlo picked up their ad- 
ditional outfit and hastened to camp. 

It was mid-afternoon. Jim and Levi were 
across the pond cutting white birch. A goodly 
pile of it in front of the barricade proved how 
busy they had been, and a hallo from Orlo brought 
them back, carrying a bunch of the four-inch by 
eight-foot poles they had cut. 

“We’re in luck ag’in,” Old Renus announced as 
they came up. “The canoe kin be pitched over so 
ye boys kin use it a spell. We found two kinds 


114 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


o’ flour, a tin baker, ’n’ a lot o’ things we need. 
’N’ tonight, boys, we’ll hev hot corn bread ’n’ broil- 
ed partridge fer supper. How’ll that strike ye?” 

“We found ten birds waiting for us in the fences 
this morning,” Jim said gleefully, “and saw an- 
other blue fox.” 

“Wal, that’s good, too,” Renu?s answered, 
who, with Orlo, was now munching the smoked 
venison they had hastily broiled. “We’ve got our 
camp work so well on now, one o’ ye kin go over 
to the lake bottom with me this arternoon ’n’ set 
some fox traps. We got fish ’nuff fer bait. ’N’ 
mebbe the other two better go at darnin’ a pool in 
the brook to fill with live trout. Once we git the 
traps all set we kin tend ’em night ’n’ morning, ’n’ 
work on the camp between times. We might ez 
we’ll hev’ some fun now,” and how elated those 
boys all were at this proposal needs no explain- 
ing. Moreover, they also saw in this plan not 
only the one supreme sport of all to them, but un- 
limited pocket money, once safely home. 

The October sun was shining fair and warm 
now, the Indian summer haze still in the air. 
Their camp with its protecting barricade prom- 
ised all sorts of satisfaction, with a store of wood 
that seemed more than enough to last all winter. 
To construct and fill a pool with live trout had 
been one of their previous dreams, and all these 


115 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


combined joys and prospects made them feel they 
were now in a veritable sportsman paradise, as 
indeed they were. 

Old Renus, busy man that he always was, took 
six of their ten small traps and with Levi carrying 
bait and the camp ax, led the way over to set the 
traps along the border of the vast lake bottom. 
Each was placed at some spot always at the . en- 
trance to a narrow defile opening into the woods, 
and in the door of a little stake pen. And now, 
after setting the last one at the mouth of a deeper 
canon, a split in a high ledge, and covering it 
with boughs, something familiar in the character 
of the broken rock caught the attention of Old 
Renus. 

“Good Lord, it can’t be!” he almost gasped, 
picking up a bit of gray-black stone, from which 
glinted flecks of mica. “Looks like it though,” he 
added, hastening up the defile, then halting to 
scrape moss from a sloping ledge. He stooped 
again to pick up another bit, and held it up to 
the light. He dove forward to find a hard stone 
and pound this soft, black bit to coarse powder, 
then crumbled it in his palm and studied it again. 

“Great Jumpin’ Jehosophat, but ’tis, sure’s a 
gun,” he exclaimed once more. “ ’N’ millions o’ 
tons, too! Good Lord, what a find!” Then he 
glanced around, and the beetling ledges up the 


116 


CAMP. CASTAWAY 


defile were all of the same gray-black, glistening 
ore! 

“What is it, Uncle Renus? What you found?” 
questioned Levi, who had followed and watched 
him curiously. 

“Oh, nothin’ but some curi’s stun that once come 
out o’ a volcano,” Old Renus answered with the 
sudden consciousness that it would never do to 
let the truth be known to these boys — now. No, 
not until he could secure a legal title to this won- 
drous discovery. “This lake bottom war once the 
crater o’ one, I cal’late,” he continued, “ ’n’ filled 
up with lava. Later on water come in ’n’ mud 
got washed in by streams. Then the lake dried 
up mebbe, or some earthquake cracked the bottom 
’n’ let the water out. But the mud wasn’t thick 
’nuff to grow big trees here, only jest what ye 
see. ’N’ it’s this stun that proves to me my notion 
is right.” 

But that old woodsman, more wise, thoughtful 
and considerate than these boys even dreamed, was 
now so dazed and astonished he scarce knew where 
he was; only a life habit of cautious observance 
and forethought now saved him from an unwise 
admission. 

“Volcanoes and earthquakes hev done queer 
things,” he added, more composed now. “They 
pushed up mountains ’n’ split ’em wide open. 


117 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


They let in sink holes whar all our lakes are now. 
Pact all continents war shoved up ’bove the level 
by ’quakes. I noticed ’round our pond the same 
thing, same sort o’ stun in one spot at the head 
on’t. ’N’ that pond is only a sink hole slopin’ up 
to whar the rice grew ’n’ good spawnin’ beds for 
trout ’n’ good spring water. I cal’late it comes 
from a big spring ’way up in our blowdown.” 
Having thus evaded Levi’s curiosity, he led the 
way back again out of the canon. 

Glancing around the open once more, he saw, 
close beside the woods border, not ten rods away, 
a good-sized apple tree, white with small apples ! 


CHAPTER XI 

H OORAY, but this is luck again !” Old Renus 
exclaimed, hastening to this fully laden 
apple tree. “ ’N’ sweet ones, too,” he 
added gleefully, munching one while Levi did the 
same. 

Never before had apples tasted better to that 
farm boy now hungry for them ! 

To the old hunter they seemed more than a 
welcome addition to their scanty list of eatables. 
They had meat and birds in plenty, but wild rice 
and a few bitter wild parsnips being the only 
vegetables in hand, he feared the effect six months 
of an almost entirely meat diet would have. “We 
must gather all on ’em right away,” he said, filling 
his shirt and pockets from the ground almost 
white with them, while Levi did the same. “They’ll 
hev to freeze, most on ’em, but if kept froze it 
won’t hurt ’em much ’n’ then we kin dry some. 
In the momin’ we’ll make some bags outen our 
silk covers ’n’ lug ’em all to camp.” 


119 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


The snares were looked over on their way back, 
and eight more birds added to their catch. It 
seemed like snaring chickens to catch those tame 
partridges, who never flew except when frightened. 
But this plentitude and tameness were also proof 
positive that they had never been hunted with 
guns. Probably not at all by white men. Per- 
haps a century or more before, Indians had snared 
them, but that had not inculcated the natural fear 
of man all game birds have. 

Here was an unusual feeding and breeding spot 
for them. An open area many miles long and 
varying from one-half to two or three miles wide, 
with only small, scattered, scrub-grown mounds 
like islands in this level of wintergreen leaves. 
There were also berries enough to sustain millions 
of birds. The few dozen partridges the boys had 
snared seemed to make no impression on their 
numbers. Like flies, when one was snared, two 
came to the funeral. 

This vast open also served as a protection from 
foxes and cats, their natural enemies, who could 
not creep upon them unawares. Hence their 
astonishing plentitude. 

When Old Renus reached their pond, he found 
Orlo and Jim hilarious with the sport they were 
having. They had utilized their original scoop 
net to hold the live trout half submerged, until 


120 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


a dozen or more had been pitched into it; then 
they carried it up and dumped the fish into their 
little pool above the pond. 

“IPs goin’ to be a handy feedin’ spot for mink,” 
Old Renus asserted, looking into the pool. “Guess 
I better set a couple o’ traps clus by.” He did 
this, then set the other two small ones across the 
pond at suitable spots for the same fish-eating 
animals, and as it was not yet nightfall he re- 
turned to the camp and taking their last big trap 
and some bear bait, also an ax, hastened away up 
the long blowdown to set it for Bruin. This also 
merits description. 

A bear is a very powerful animal, and one who 
finds his paw in a trap will inevitably bite or gnaw 
his leg above the trap until he can tear himself 
loose and escape. To obviate this a small log 
is attached to the trap chain instead of fastening 
that, so the captured bear will drag the trap slow- 
ly away into forest or swamp, rather than to 
gnaw himself free. His trail can then be followed 
easily and Bruin is usually found not far away, 
and shot. 

Old Renus, who had trapped many bears, now 
set about the job with his usual caution. First, 
he pulled a few wild parsnip roots to rub on the 
soles of his boots and hands so that Bruin would 
not smell him. He next cut down a six-inch swamp 


9 


121 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


maple, chopped off a five-foot log just above a 
stout limb, which was also lopped off, leaving a 
few inches of prong. He then cut and sharpened 
a stout stick flat, like a chisel, to dig with, and 
thus equipped, stole onward cautiously to his bear 
hole. When he drew near he stepped on as many 
stones as possible, crawled along on fallen tree 
trunks when the chance offered, and finally picked 
up a flat stone to stand upon while setting his 
trap. This was well smeared with deer fat, and 
placed in a shallow hole, a few browned parsnip 
roots tucked under the bait pan, and all, including 
the trap chain and log toggle, covered with soft, 
dry moss and leaves. A handful of roasted beech- 
nuts was next spread around the trap for a final al- 
lurement, and then Old Renus withdrew as he 
came, leaving no visible footprints behind him. A 
lot of precaution, of course, but he knew what the 
cunning of Bruin meant, and that no wild creature 
roaming in this wilderness was as hard to trap 
as a bear unless it was a beaver. A fox came 
next, while cats, muskrats, mink, fishes and otter 
were as easy to catch as rabbits. 

And Old Renus wanted a bear just now much 
more than a deer! 

First, because his skin would keep all three of 
his boys warm in any temperature. His hams, 
quartered, salted and smoked, were far better 


122 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


than any domestic ones, while his belly was like 
thick pork, only far more eatable. A goodly quan- 
tity of excellent lard could be obtained, and with 
the unhoped for find of sweet apples, Old Renus 
foresaw a few possible pies for occasional luxuries. 

He visited his other two traps returning to 
camp, and found in one a fine lynx, held by its 
hind leg ; the lynx leaped up snarling and yowling 
the moment Old Renus appeared; and so vicious 
and dangerous was this full four-foot long animal, 
that Old Renus did not dare try and club it to 
death until he had the rifle, so he hurried on to 
camp for it. He called to the boys also to let 
them share the excitement of killing such a per- 
nicious brute, and so fearsome did that yellow- 
eyed creature with body the size of a big dog 
seem, that they quivered with fear lest the animal 
should get out of the trap and spring upon them. 

Old Renus knew the danger, and creeping cau- 
tiously up, club in hand, he dealt the crouching 
brute a stunning blow on its head. But it needed 
a dozen more to quite kill him. Then a united 
whoop of joy came from the boys, for to them a 
lynx was the most fearful of all animals so far 
seen in this wilderness. 

They were destined to meet and fear worse 
ones, however. 

But fear of all such prowlers vanished when 


123 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


they once more watched Old Renus broiling par- 
tridges and frying trout for supper inside their 
ten-foot barricade. Its doors of two thicknesses 
of birch poles with spruce bark between were 
shut and bolted with two more stout sticks. In- 
side the cabin their sapling and bark table with 
silk cover was set with bright tinware, while over 
their open fire hung a pot of coffee. A keener 
anticipation than this secure and wildwood meal 
was with them, however, and that was the many 
traps to set and to be tended twice a day for weeks 
to come. 

Once, as farm boys and at this season, the 
brown and scarlet October one, a few traps set 
for “mus’rats” worth a shilling apiece had been 
for months a continual anticipation. But now, 
with seven snare fences that returned a dozen 
or more birds each day, with six traps for foxes, 
four for mink, two for bobcats, and one for a 
glorious bear, all awaiting them on the morrow, 
why the joyful anticipation seemed like a beauti- 
ful dream. 

Their secure and romantic hut, the building of 
which had consumed most of four weeks, was a 
habitation they were proud of; and, with its 
unique bulwark, one they felt perfectly safe in. 
Their rice hay bed, spread over spruce boughs, 
exhaled a true woodsy aroma. The two dozen 


124 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


long pieces of smoked venison depending from the 
cabin roof with double the number of partridges 
hanging under one shed, likewise added satisfac- 
tion. The thoughts of these impecunious farm 
boys just now, too, were centered on the valuable 
furs soon to be theirs. But the best of all their 
possessions was Old Renus, to whom they felt 
they owed their lives in addition to all of these 
minor joys. 

He, too, as they squatted around their rustic 
table, felt fairly well satisfied with what had been 
accomplished. They were moderately well pro- 
tected from the many dangers that surrounded 
them; but he knew that after the snow came the 
dangers would increase; the cats would grow 
bolder and, scenting their cooking and meat, would 
haunt their cabin each night; and far more to be 
dreaded was the danger from wolves, always in 
his mind. 

He was, however, in addition to being an opti- 
mist, a firm believer in the old axiom that “There 
are two things it doesn’t pay to worry about: 
those you can help and those you can’t.” In this 
case he could not help the number of dangerous 
wild animals hereabouts, the inevitable accom- 
paniment to the multiplicity of deer and game 
birds. All he could do was to provide against 
these dangers in the best way possible. 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


Later, and as lie lounged in front of their cheery 
fire, enjoying his cob pipe, he began wondering 
if that gray-black ore he had found would prove 
to be real silver-lead ore worth hundreds of dol- 
lars per ton, or just the “rotten rock,” so called, 
which much resembled it. He was familiar with 
both, or had been years before. He had visited 
the famous Bonanza and Ophir silver mines in 
his younger days. He knew that the genuine ore 
was so like the bogus that the test of smelting 
must be made to determine which was the pay ore. 

But that necessitated a crucible with coal and 
blow pipe. 

He felt almost positive that what he had found 
was the real silver-lead ore. He had, a few years 
before he came to Oakham, visited the recently 
discovered Cobalt silver mines, which were lo- 
cated in Northern Canada, perhaps less than one 
hundred miles away. He knew also that veins 
cf all minerals usually followed a direct trend, 
often dipping miles below the earth’s surface to 
appear again, sometimes miles away! And this 
ledge might be an outcropping of the rich Cobalt 
vein. 

But how to test the ore? How smelt a bit of 
it, requiring, as he would, the intense heat of coal 
and blowpipe? 

So far the problems that confronted him had 


126 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


been easy for a trained woodsman to solve. Build- 
ing a but where materials were plenty, and secur- 
ing game that was not wild, was easy. Luck had 
favored them, especially in finding the defunct 
trapper’s cabin with all its essential and valuable 
outfit. But no luck could possibly find the means 
to smelt ore in this vast, pathless wilderness. 

The boys, keenly alert to so much excitement 
and risk, now began to suspect that a mystery 
existed. Levi, always watchful of Old Renus, 
whom he considered the most wonderful of men, 
decided there was something beyond his mere 
curiosity or interest in this sombre canon, and 
that the queer black stone he examined so keenly 
meant something more than the evidence of vol- 
canic action. A momentous secret that even his 
mentor was unable to explain as yet. Levi wasn’t 
in the habit of questioning him overmuch, for he 
held him in too much awe. But he was quite sure 
by the look on his face when studying that bit of 
black rock, that it held a secret. And a secret in 
this wilderness was to him like the hope of seeing* 
a ghost, both alluring and fearsome. He sought 
to solve it the next day when he and Jim went to 
tend the snares, for that being done, both hurried 
on to the dark canon. It seemed a more forbid- 
ding place as they now entered it, a more vast 
and shadowy one. Only a little way did they dare 


127 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


go, then they halted, listened and looked around. 
Sounds in there became magnified at once. The 
tinkle of a hidden rill was like the click of bones, 
the chirp of a bird up above like the caw of a 
crow, and the slant of sunlight across the dark 
gorge, ghostly and spectral. An eerie, weird feel- 
ing kin to the moment they first saw the one open 
window in the dead trapper’s cabin, came to them, 
and was almost as dreadful as the sight of his 
grinning skull. Only for a few moments could 
they face that awful presence now confronting 
them, and then, with loud-thumping hearts, and 
hand in hand, they retreated. 

“Uncle Renus found something awful in there, 
I know it,” Levi whispered, when sunlight and 
safety was reached. “He said it was some queer 
stone, but it was more than that.” 

“Maybe it was blood that had colored the stone,” 
Jim answered, in the same awed tone, “and he 
didn’t want to tell you. He’s ’fraid we’ll get 
scared, I guess.” 

“I’ve seen him give a start when a wolf howled, 
like he knew we was in danger,” Levi added to 
this surmise of fearsome things. “He’s that way 
with us. He looked almost scared when he found 
that black rock here,” and then they both stared 
up into the dark defile as if that ill-omened stone 
had been the famous Arabic one of old legend, 


128 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and from that day onward that shadowy defile be- 
came a haunted one to the boys. 

“Something awful happened there once and 
Uncle Eenus found it out,” Levi asserted to Orlo 
later on, when initiating him into this dread secret. 
“He won’t tell us and I won’t ask him.” 

“Better not,” cautioned Orlo, who had the most 
faith in the wisdom of their old hero. “He knows 
best what to tell us and what not to. I ain’t going 
to be ’fraid of anything till he says so.” 

But for all that, never afterward did they go 
out into the lake bottom without casting furtive 
glances at the somber canon, as if a ghost might 
stalk out of it at any moment. They began to 
watch Old Benus more closely. If he looked 
anxiously at anything, they did the same. If he 
listened long after some wolf howl or lynx yowl, 
so did they, but with extra beating hearts. If he 
peered at some animal track, as he often did, they 
scanned his face curiously, even as they had at 
first sight of him years before. He had been a 
mystery to them then; and now they were sur- 
rounded by mystery, with him for their only 
guardian and protector. Nor did it seem to them 
they could escape it until they were safely out of 
this forbidding wilderness. 

Despite this watchfulness and vague suspicion, 
these boys that Old Renus had in a way lured to 


129 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


associate with him, had become as dear to him as 
if his own. Their admiration, their company and 
boyish affection for him was all the happiness he 
now had in his lonely life. They had, as he knew, 
like all farm boys, their own way to make in life. 
They would, he expected, desert him when that 
time came, leaving him alone as before. But he 
very much wanted to do something for them if the 
chance came, to endear himself to them. 

He did not care for riches himself, he only 
wanted enough for the final needs of his life, and 
that he had. But if this ore was the real silver 
ore, and he had discovered a rich mine, to dispose 
of it to them would give him the greatest joy of 
his life. Hence he was now more than anxious 
to find out if he had really discovered a fortune. 

But now the fire had burned low ; the tired boys 
had crept into their bunks, and Old Renus, as he 
always did, stepped outside to look around ere 
turning in, himself. 

It was a glorious autumn evening. A full moon 
almost up to the zenith was reflected in the placid 
pond. A solemn stillness seemed to creep out of 
the black enclosing forest. As he stood there en- 
thralled by the grim, ghostly, eerie moonlight, a 
loon far away on the big lake uttered its human 
halloo. And now, as if to bid defiance, from over 
where he had found the gray-black ore, came the 


130 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


distant answer of a wolf howl. * Once, twice, it 
came faintly from afar, a weird, uncanny, creepy 
baying like naught else in the wilderness. Then, 
waiting, listening almost breathlessly while a chill 
dread crept over him, Old Renus heard that omi- 
nous call answered by another far up on the moun- 
tain side. 

“I don’t like it, not a little bit,” he muttered, 
entering his barricade door and bolting it. “ We’ll 
hev a pack on ’em ’round here soon sure’s a gun !” 


CHAPTER XII 

W E got to go apple gatherin’ today arter 
we’ve tended the traps over in the ‘bot- 
tom,’ ” Old Renus announced as soon as 
the boys woke up next morning “I’ll lace up 
three o’ the silk blankets fer bags to fetch ’em 
in while I take a look ’round over thar. Some 
other bird or crow mebbe might ’a’ dropped 
’nother apple seed for us ’n’ I might find ’nother 
tree. 

“Gatherin’ apples ’n’ tendin’ traps same time ’ll 
seem like bein’ home ag’in, won’t it, boys?” he 
added smilingly, now taking their cake of soap and 
towel and leading the way to the pond. 

A light frost whitened the rocks and shale shore 
of the pond and a faint fog was rising from it. 
Here and there a restless trout rose to start a 
circle of faint ripples, while above the green range 
to eastward the day was dawning. 

When breakfast was eaten, Old Renus thrust 
his camp ax in his belt, picked up the rifle and all 


132 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


four left the camp just as the sun appeared over 
the green mountain top. 

“I’m goin’ to range round the bottom a spell,’* 
he said, when the first snare fence was reached, 
“ ’n’ leave the rifle with you boys to sorter keep 
ye company while Pm gone. Tend the snares ’n’ 
traps fust ’n’ then go fer the apples. Pll jine ye 
by noon.” Then he strode away to the canon. 

He found a blue fox in the trap set at its en- 
trance, which he dispatched at once. Then kept 
on slowly up the defile, studying the jagged jum- 
ble of rocks that filled it, and the broken cliffs to 
right and left, with the eyes of a mine prospector. 
He picked up a few bits of the soft black ore and 
pocketed them. He broke pieces away from big 
chunks with the head of his ax to examine care- 
fully and then kept on. The defile now broadened 
out with higher walls, being a big chasm in the 
low mountain, filled with a chaos of the same black 
rocks and boulders of all sizes. Beyond, the can- 
on narrowed until the green overhang met above 
it ; then it divided into two lesser defiles to right 
and left, and still bore upward. 

“A curi’s freak o’ Natur’ ’n’ a mighty nice spot 
fer cats,” Old Renus muttered, glancing around. 
“But if here ain’t millions o’ tons o’ silver ore, all 
signs fail ! Cap rock jest the same ez Dead Man’s’ 
Gulch that panned out so big. A reg’lar split in 


133 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


the mountain like that ’n’ sorter like whar the 
Ophir opened out. ’N’ the ore is jest the same 
gray shade. Good Lord, but it’s too much to be 
true !” 

Then slowly retreating down this shadowy chaos 
of moss-covered boulders he finally halted and 
listened to the faint sound of a hidden brook. He 
felt a grim sense of awe from the dim silence and 
the sense of Titanic power that had once split this 
mountain asunder. For centuries snow had filled 
this gorge each winter to slowly melt, leaving only 
a purling rill ; and green moss hid what he believed 
to be a fabulous fortune. No white man had ever 
come here ; only yellow-eyed prowlers, hibernating 
bears and white-fanged wolves. It was spooky 
even to him, well used as he was to the unseen 
presence, ever lurking in such shadowy canons, 
deep in a vast wilderness. To him as to all hu- 
man kind that strange, mysterious something now 
made him look and listen, while he breathed soft- 
ly and his heart beat unduly loud. Invisible 
forms seemed crawling along the cliff tops above. 
Shadowy shapes slunk into deeper shade, 
malicious eyes peered out from an overhang. As 
Old Renus moved on cautiously, even his foot- 
steps on the mossy stones sounded ominous, and 
emerging into sunlight, he felt grateful for its 
cheer. 


134 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


He glanced at the boys, who were grouped 
around a trap he had set, then turned and fol- 
lowed along the shore of the lake bottom. Soon 
that curved to the left, the level open broadened 
out, and the spectral trees seemed to retreat. He 
kept on for fully two miles, always close to the 
bank, scanning it, and paying no heed to the par- 
tridges scarce troubling themselves to get out of 
his way or to the deer feeding far out in the open. 
What he was looking for, he scarce knew himself, 
but he scanned the border of what he believed had 
been the lava-filled bed of a volcano. It was en- 
tirely surrounded by low mountains. The rill he 
had heard up in the canon had vanished, for 
there was no sign of it at the entrance, and coming 
to a larger one he followed it out a hundred rods 
to find that it disappeared amid a tangle of scrub 
growth. 

To the left of this and jutting out from a point, 
lay a low, curved elevation of bare brown and red- 
dish rock like sandstone and beyond that a de- 
pression in which grew a thicket of cane the size 
of cornstalks. He hurried to this, over the six- 
inch deep wintergreen carpet, and cutting down a 
stalk found it hollow. 

“Wal, we kin make more candles outer these,” 
he said to himself, recognizing their utility. He 
cut an armful to carry home, when the thought 


135 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


struck him that one might be used for a blowpipe 
with a silk hag for bellows ! 

“By Gosh!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “I may 
work it out yit! If only I could find coal Pd do 
it. Mebbe I kin make charcoal go. I’ll try it, 
anyhow. Pve jest got to find if Pm right, or go 
nutty.” 

He turned back from here, following the bare 
rock to the bank again, then on around another 
curve to a second point. He halted once more to 
note that the rock was of yellow slate formation, 
rotten and crumbled, then spied what appeared 
to be the entrance to a defile, a few rods out from 
which a doe and fawn were feeding close together. 
They were perhaps twenty rods away, unconscious 
that he was watching them, and were outside of 
a thicket of scrub spruce. 

While he was admiring this pretty wildwood 
picture, Old Renus caught sight of a long gray 
animal with two white fangs protruding from his 
jaws, coming out from the undergrowth along the 
bank, and crouching, move swiftly towards the 
feeding deer. Only for half a moment was this 
brief drama visible, then the crouching wolf 
dashed through the scrub, leaped upon the fawn, 
and buried his fangs in its neck. At that instant 
the doe bounded away to halt a few rods off. 

Now came a pathetic touch, for as the fawn 


1 36 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


gave a bleating call for help, the mother doe leaped 
back to strike at the wolf with her fore feet. But 
the fierce animal paid no heed; he bit and tore 
at the fawn’s throat, lapping the gushing blood, 
until it ceased struggling; then the wolf turned 
and sprang at the doe. But it was futile, for with 
a bound she was away like the wind. Old Renus, 
squatting behind a bush, saw the wolf wheel back 
to tear at the fawn’s throat. 

“Darn ye, I wish I had the rifle now,” he mut- 
tered. “But mebbe ’tain’t best. Mebbe I’ll want 
all the shells wuss bimeby.” Then he withdrew 
and hastened back along the bank. 

He glanced at the sun, noted it was almost noon, 
and with his loping stride, soon came in sight of 
the apple tree and the boys, and found they had 
stripped the tree and that the bags were full. 

“We got two foxes besides the one you killed,” 
Orlo announced excitedly, his round face shining. 

“And two mink, one at our trout pool,” Jim 
added. 

“A lot more birds, too,” chorused Levi. “And 
one got eat up by a fox. We seen him luggin’ it 
off in his mouth.” 

“What’s the cane for!” Orlo next queried, as 
they started for camp. 

“Oh, I’m goin’ to make candles outer them,” 
Old Renus explained. “Jest draw pieces o’ cotton 


10 


137 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


cord up through sections o’ these. I can make 
the cord o’ our balloon net. Then Pll set ’em in 
damp clay ’n’ fill up with deer fat. ’N’ when it 
hardens 111 slit away the cane ’n’ we’ve got can- 
dles. 

“Well want ’em all to play checkers with by 
’n’ by, when winter evenin’s come,” he added. “Ye 
boys hev got to hev suthin’ to do long’s ye can’t 
go to parties ’n’ see the gals.” 

“But we hain’t any checker boards,” declared 
Orlo. 

“Wal, I’ll make a couple fast ’nuff,” Old Renus 
smiled again. “That’s an easy stunt now ; I wish 
I hadn’t any harder one.” And it was easy com- 
pared to making a blowpipe and smelting a bit 
of ore. 

After dinner he suggested that the boys con- 
struct another trout pool above the one now filled 
with fish. He then set about skinning the foxes 
they had caught, and stretched their pelts upon 
stout forked sticks to dry. He also skinned the 
lynx, and spreading wood ashes over the skin, 
preparatory to tanning it, he covered that as he 
had the cat skins with slabs of slate, then taking 
the rifle and ax he started for the blowdown to 
build a charcoal pit. 

He inspected his bear trap and found it un- 
molested, then he returned to a ravine opening 


138 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


eastward, followed it until he came to a level spot 
at the base of a low cliff, suitable for his object. 
This he cleared of underbrush, and began cutting 
small swamp maples and birch trees, chopping 
them into two-foot lengths, and finally building 
a conical pile of the sticks, leaving a six-inch open- 
ing through the base. He then covered this pile 
with sods from the bank of the brook, where he 
had found the clay, and, starting a fire of light- 
wood under the pile, he waited until it was blazing 
well, banked the opening and left it to smoulder 
for a few days. He now had charcoal under way, 
but whether it would serve to fuse ore was yet to 
be demonstrated. 

He joined the boys later to watch them fishing, 
while he smoked and rested. It was now over five 
weeks since they were dropped into this wilder- 
ness. In all that time he had not halted his steady 
work, except to tramp to and from the trapper’s 
cabin, and search for his traps ; and the old man 
was tired. He had also “got a good ready fer 
winter,” as he would express it. The cabin needed 
a few extra touches; more boughs to be spread 
over the roof and the two sheds, slabs of slate and 
clay to be packed around the chimney top to check 
sparks that might set the green boughs on fire, 
and a few minor bits of work. More wood must 
be cut and piled inside and a store of dry pine 


139 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


cut, split and added to that, all of which the boys 
could do between times. The deerskins, now 
nearly tanned, must be cut up and fashioned 
into raiment — he needed a coat and they needed 
jackets and pants. Four pairs of socks must be 
cut from one of the blankets and sewn together. 
Two more deer must be added to their store 
of food, and their skins tanned before winter 
set in. 

“Guess I won’t bother to pitch the canoe. The 
boys ’ll be kept busy trappin’ ’n’ fishin’ till snow 
comes. ’N’ we got to take out quite a string of 
pelts, fer some must be sold to pay our way home. 
I hain’t but a few dollars with me ’n’ ’bout three 
more o’ that trapper’s money.” Then he fell to 
thinking of that trip out, probably down three 
hundred miles of stream and river with hidden 
rocks and many rapids, around which the canoe 
must be carried. 

And he was not yet sure they would not come 
out into Hudson Bay ! 

“We ain’t out o’ the woods yet by a long shot,” 
he thought. “ ’N’ on top o’ deep snow ’n’ way- 
below-zero weather come them cussed wolves! 
J erusalem ! but that war a vicious cuss that shot 
out ’n’ jumped onto that fawn today. I s’pose 
we’ll hev a dozen on ’em round the cabin some fine 
cold mornin’. I’d feel safer if I cud ’a’ found a 


140 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


box or two o’ shells that trapper must ’a’ hid 
som’ers round his shack.” 

The boys, however, had no such worries. To 
them, with a four-acre pond alive with trout, with 
many traps set and to be tended with a snug cabin 
and food aplenty, to say nothing of their fine old 
hero on guard and watching out for their needs, 
life here was a delightfully romantic one, more 
joyous than they had ever dreamed of. 

That evening was a homelike one, for the boys 
began the apple paring ; quartering and stringing 
them on cords to dry, while Old Renus commenced 
his housewife work by cutting socks from one of 
their blankets, while he smoked in apparent con- 
tent. He was grateful that the boys showed no 
signs of homesickness. They worked willingly; 
they slept and ate like happy pigs, were up and 
out with him in the morning, as if to start for a 
simple day’s fishing. They were growing brown 
and fat and never complained of anything. And 
Old Renus was quite proud of them. 

It was later than usual when they all turned in, 
but Old Renus was awake at dawn, and on open- 
ing the barricade door, was astonished to see a 
lordly buck standing not three rods away, staring 
at the bough-thatched cabin. 


CHAPTER Xin 

O LD RENUS had decided he must keep the 
few shells he had found for protection 
against wolves, but that splendid buck, 
not three rods away, was too much of a tempta- 
tion, so he stole softly back into the cabin, mo- 
tioned to the boys to keep still, and a moment 
later the crack of a rifle echoed across the pond, 
and so true was his aim that the deer leaped up, 
shot through the heart. 

“We’ve got fresh venison ’nuff fer two months. 
Hooray, boys!” Old Renus shouted, darting out 
to slit the deer’s throat while the boys followed 
him pell-mell. And so they had, for that noble 
buck must have weighed all of three hundred 
pounds. 

A hasty breakfast followed, and by the time 
the sun appeared over the mountain, they had 
that deer skinned, his quarters hung in the shed, 
and the skin covered with damp ashes and laid 
under slabs of slate to cure for tanning. 


1 42 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“We’ll all go ’n’ tend the traps, now,” the old 
man cried. “ ’N’ do it quick. Then I’m cal’latin’ 
we’d best stick a row o’ birch poles into our wall 
’n’ build it up on top o’ the ledge jest to kinder 
shut us in better. I figger cats will git after our 
meat if they kin.” 

But it wasn’t cats he was most afraid of now. 

That wolf darting out of the undergrowth like 
a gray specter, had been an object lesson, and 
warned him that it was no longer safe for the 
boys to go alone to the lake bottom and along its 
border to tend traps. 

The traps and snares as usual scored well. Ten 
more partridges had poked their unwise heads 
into nooses, and two foxes had found trout too 
alluring. On coming to the last trap, however, 
at the entrance to what Old Renus believed to be 
a silver mine, a surprise awaited them, for the 
trap was missing! 

The stake pen built around it was almost demol- 
ished and a stout stake to which the trap chain had 
been attached was also gone. 

“It’s a cat or a lynx, sure’s a gun,” Old Renus 
asserted, seeing claw and teeth marks on what 
was left of the stakes. “He went up the gully,” 
he next declared, spying a well-defined trail on the 
moss-coated stones. This he followed cautiously, 
rifle ready for a quick shot. The boys, badly 


143 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


scared, followed, clubs in band and well to the 
rear. 

A few rods up this shadowy canon Old Renus 
spied two yellow eyes glaring out from beneath a 
boulder, and the next instant a wild cat leaped 
out with a snarl and tried to escape. 

The trap chain and stake fast to it had been 
drawn under a rock and so held the trapped ani- 
mal. But it was a precarious hold, and Old Renus 
knew that to attack that angry creature now with 
a club, was a risky thing to do. Yet he hesitated 
to waste a valuable shell on a bobcat. 

“Dern ye, I guess Pll let ye mull a spell,” he 
said, uncertain what to do. 

“Why don’t you shoot him?” Orlo queried anx- 
iously. “He may break loose and come at us !” 

“Wal, the cuss ain’t wuth a shell to us, now, 
Orlo, skin, trap ’n’ all. We hain’t but a few ’n’ I 
want to save ’em,” Old Renus answered firmly. 
“It’s kinder brutal, I s’pose, but guess we’ll let 
the critter alone,” and then Orlo realized that the 
only animals their protector feared were wolves ! 

He made no answer, for being older than the 
other two boys, he had more discretion, and saw 
why Old Renus avoided admitting what he felt. 

“We’ll take a look at the varmint later on,” the 
old man said, turning away and descending the 
canon. “Mebbe he’ll break loose ’n’ leave us our 


144 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


trap. But his skin ain’t wuth a shot to ns now ’n’ 
I don’t want to tackle him with a club. It’s too 
risky.” 

Fortunately for their peace of mind, Jim and 
Levi failed to grasp the real reason for this ac- 
tion and Orlo said nothing. 

When camp was reached, the boys went about 
cutting birches and Old Renus hurried away to 
take a peep at his bear trap and the charcoal pit. 
He knew a week must pass before slow burning 
would produce charcoal, but he wanted to be sure 
the smouldering fire was still alive. He found 
it was, and so pushed on to his bear trap. That 
had not been molested, in fact he knew it might 
not be until Bruin decided it was time to take his 
winter nap. On his way back, however, having 
crossed to a group of beech trees by the blowdown 
to fill his pockets with nuts for camp use, he was 
just in time to see a big black bear bob away in 
its peculiar clumsy manner. 

“I’ll see ye later, mebbe, my good fellow,” Old 
Renus ejaculated smiling. “When ye feel drowsy, 
then I’ll come round. I ain’t in no hurry now.” 
He filled his pockets with nuts, meaning to roast 
most of them and pound them fine to add to the 
rice flour produced in the same way, then taking a 
look at his other two big traps, hastened back to 
the cabin. Only a brief halt was made for dinner, 


145 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and so hard did they all work that by sunset a 
fringe of white birch poles close together, pro- 
truded from their barricade and an eight foot 
fence was built across the ledge back of the cabin. 

“Looks sorter like a castle, don’t it, boys V 9 Old 
Renus asked. “All we need is a flag ’n’ a pole up 
’bove to carry out the idee. It ain’t over hand- 
some, howsomever, but we kin feel middlin’ safe in 
it. Cats might climb those poles, but they ain’t 
likely to.” 

“It will keep out the wolves too, won’t it?” Orlo 
asked, watching Old Renus. 

“Sartin, sartin,” came the confident answer. 
“No wolf ud even try to jump that fence ’n’ if they 
happen round we kin laugh at ’em.” 

All of the next two days, except time spent in 
trap-tending, were devoted to fuel gathering and 
minor work on the cabin. A pole floor was laid 
inside and between the poles moss was stuffed. A 
hearthstone of clay was laid in front of the fire- 
place. Two shelves of poles and bark were built 
along one wall. A bin made of the always avail- 
able spruce bark, was made to keep apples in, and 
then, surveying their wildwood home within and 
without, including all the deer meat and birds now 
secured and hanging high, with festoons of quar- 
tered apples drying, along the front of the bul- 
wark, Old Renus smiled, well pleased. 


146 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“We ain’t goin’ hungry ’n’ we kin feel safe,” he 
assured the satisfied boys. “ ’N’ those are the 
main things. Ez we hev got such a good ready, 
we kin hev a few days oft now while this Injun 
summer lasts. Fust I want to take a cruise long 
the west side o’ the bottom land ’n’ look fer more 
wild parsnips. When we come to bile our smoked 
meat they’ll go good. In the mornin’ we’ll fetch 
up the canoe ’n’ spread pitch on it. Then the next 
day make an ’arly start ’n’ go prospectin’ down- 
stream a little way. ’N’ then we kin fetch back 
the door o’ that old cabin too. It’ll make a good 
table.” 

And thus did Old Renus plan a few days’ 
change for his boys. 

The canoe was brought up the next morning and 
duly coated with the sap that exudes from pine 
trees and hardens. The canvas of this old canoe 
was rotten and rendered the boat unsafe for cross- 
ing a wide lake, and hopeless to use on a rocky 
stream. 

A few slices of venison, the wire broiler and 
some rice biscuits were packed for a midday lunch, 
and closing both doors of “Camp Castaway,” as 
Old Renus had now named this cabin, they all 
started for a long tramp around the lake bottom. 
So far only two or three miles of its eastern bor- 
der had been visited by Old Renus, and now fol- 


147 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


lowing the opposite bank, he was confirmed in his 
idea that this vast open space must have been a 
lake bed at some prehistoric period. Points jutted 
out, with deep indentations between them like 
coves ; strips of gravel and sand devoid of vegeta- 
tion were found alongside; boulders and ledges 
from beneath which all earth and gravel had been 
washed away, were from ten to twenty feet above 
the inward sloping bottom. Across this, in places, 
patches of bare, black rock rose above the green 
level; a broad bare stretch of this rock ran out 
from a point a few hundred rods surrounded by 
thick-growing wintergreen leaves. 

A small brook chattering down a defile fur- 
ther on, was crossed, its devious course outlined 
by reeds and cattails, and following it to a thicket 
of canes and rank sedge grass, Old Renus found 
that it ended there. Another creek a mile beyond, 
showed the same mysterious disappearance, and 
what was more surprising, both were alive with 
small minnows. Here the old man halted to kneel 
and taste the water, finding it cool and sweet. 

“It’s curi’s, mighty curi’s” he said, shaking his 
head and glancing around, “but I can’t see whar 
these brooks go to. They come from springs up 
in the moutain, that’s sure. Thar must be quite 
a run o’ water in the spring from meltin’ snow. 
But whar it all goes to beats me. Thar must be 


148 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


cracks in this lake bottom som’ers. So much 
water couldn’t dry up.” 

“ *N’ it don’t empty into our pond either,” he 
added, after thinking a moment. “The stream out 
o’ that ain’t half the size o’ this un. The bedrock 
here looks to me like lava too.” 

The sun said noontime now, and as sweet water 
was here in plenty, Old Renus soon had a fire 
started, and their wildwood lunch was cooked and 
eaten. 

The phenomenon of this lake bottom with a 
fissure under it seemed wonderful to the boys, and 
more wonderful was the fact that the water in 
such a big, deep lake as this must have been, had 
vanished. It seemed greater in extent than when 
they had built the first snare fence. They had 
followed the shore fully five miles now, and yet 
the vista of spectral trees appeared as distant as 
ever. A few small trees rose like scrub skeletons 
across the lake bottom, but were not so impressive 
as that distant group. 

“It’s the way ye look at ’em endways,” Old 
Renus explained. “I cal’late this lake must ’a’ bin 
all o’ fifteen miles long, ’n’ from here across it’s 
about three.” 

There were other interesting features in this 
unique panorama. A dozen or more deer scat- 
tered all over this green plain ; two moose, a bull 


149 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and cow, faintly visible near the other shore, and 
away to the right amid the spectral trees, a small 
herd of caribou. An eagle was spied slowly sail- 
ing over the green expanse, then they saw it sud- 
denly swoop down and rise again with a partridge 
in his talons. 

“We’ll follow this brook up a piece, ’n’ then go 
back,” said Renus. “We want to take a look at our 
traps on the way, ’n’ it’ll be night by the time we 
git home.” 

He led the way slowly up this shallow, open 
ravine, halting to examine each shelf of rock or 
low ledge, for he was satisfied that volcanic action 
had taken place here, and that some later earth- 
quake had split the lava bed of this former lake ; 
and since the range of mountains had been rent 
asunder and either “rotten stone” or silver ore 
exposed, there was no telling what other ores or 
minerals might be found. 

And the one that Old Renus most wanted was 
coal! 

So far he had seen no surface signs of coal, but 
he had stumbled onto what he now believed to be 
silver ore; and recalling the fact that a vein of 
coal had once been found close by a rich lode of 
silver in Nevada, he hoped he might find both 
here; hence his watchfulness. 

He carefully scanned this shallow canon, mainly 


150 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


bordered by low ledges of trap rock and iron- 
stone, over broad steps of which the brook tinkled. 
Some twenty rods in and to the left, he noticed a 
sheer face of moss-coated rock that dripped water, 
and at its base a slope of reddish, yellow qnartz. 
He stooped to examine it here in shadow, and lo 
and behold! along its border and separating the 
qnartz from the trap rock, lay an inch wide vein 
of black ! In an instant he was down on his knees, 
knife in hand, picked ont a tiny bit, pounded that 
on a hard stone with the butt of his knife, rubbed 
his finger in the powder and found the finger black- 
ened. 

Hard coal at last! 

“What is it?” asked Orlo, who was close by, and 
had watched this odd proceeding. 

“Oh, nothin’ much, only my notion,” Old Renus 
answered nonchalantly, rising. “Pm jest huntin’ 
fer signs o’ quakes ’n’ what emptied this lake some- 
time.” Then he followed the black line a few feet, 
kicking the moss away from it. 

“The ’arth war pitchin’ ’n’ tossin’ once upon a 
time round here, boys,” he continued, leading the 
way out of the ravine. “ ’N’ all sorts o’ rocks war 
shoved up then. I figger too, the lake bed war 
once boilin’ lava. Someday you’ll read all ’bout 
it. I’m curi’s ’cause I used to go prospectin’ fer 
miners with a man who’d forgot more’n I ever 


151 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


knew ’bout such things. I picked up a little, how- 
ever.” And so Old Renus kept his momentous 
secret. 

He did not see its solution in this inch wide vein 
of coal, however, unless it led to a wider one, and 
even then he must have some implement to pick 
out a quart of small bits, at least. He might use 
his hunting knife with a stone for a hammer, but 
the knife was too valuable for such use. He still 
had hopes that charcoal would answer for fuel. 

Homeward bound in a direct line across the lake 
bottom, Old Renus found a pleasant surprise in 
the shape of a broad patch of the wild parsnips 
that had grown rankly on a slight elevation. The 
tops were frost-browned, but were all the better 
for that, and within ten minutes they had pulled 
all they could carry. 

“We’d better come ’n’ git more in a day or 
two,” he said. “When it comes to biled dinners, 
b’ar pork ’n’ smoked venison, they’ll go good.” 

When the cabin was reached, it was a welcome 
sight to the boys after an all day absence. Once 
inside the barricade with the door shut and supper 
cooking, a more than consoling sense of security 
came to them, and Camp Castaway was indeed a 
most romantic wildwood home. 

Another mood came to Orlo later, when Old 
Renus began cutting out a deerskin jacket for him 


152 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


with his hunting knife, for then he flew in thought 
to his home, and to his mother knitting or darn- 
ing socks for him beside the evening lamp. With 
that recollection came the first touch of home- 
sickness. 

But worse ones were yet to come ! 


11 


CHAPTER XIV 

A N early start for what promised to he a 
delightful trip to the boys, was made the 
next day, and after all the needful things 
Old Renus decided to take along, including ax, 
rifle, blankets and his clay cup of pitch, were put 
in the canoe, they all took their places and away 
they paddled down the lake. 

But a new fear came to Old Renus, for with four 
in this frail craft, it was loaded down to its margin 
of safety, even for still water, and to run the 
rapids of any stream would be more than risky. 

And there must be scores of rapids to run in 
getting out of this wilderness. 

But the morn was fair. A warm south wind 
barely rippled the lake. Deer watched them curi- 
ously from along shore. Scattered hardwoods 
blazed here and there on mountain slopes, and the 
boys were hilarious over the outing. They had 
worked manfully at camp building and stocking 
with Old Renus. With him they could now feel 


154 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


elated over their wildwood home-making, and en- 
joy this day and its continual anticipation. 

To the old man it was especially enjoyable, for 
he loved the woods. He had hunted, fished 
trapped and lived in them many years, and a trip 
up or down an unknown stream, was to him a wild- 
wood poem. He was a dreamer, with much of the 
hermit nature too, and while he loved these hoys 
and enjoyed giving them all the outdoor pleas- 
ures, he could yet be content for weeks in the 
woods without seeing a human face. 

A stream exploration was always a delight to 
him. He loved to hear the music of running water 
and rapids; to watch the banks for all sorts of 
wild animals; a deer peeping out of a coppice, a 
heron, frog hunting in a lagoon, a mink crawling 
out on a bank with a fish in its mouth, or even the 
ordinary muskrat diving from a log. But best of 
all to him, was a silent glide down a slowly run- 
ning river winding its way through the wilderness, 
while the banks slipped past as in a panorama. 

He was curious about this stream he had planned 
to follow, and he was also anxious regarding its 
direction, for that meant much to them. He had a 
faint clue that it was the St. Maurice, or one of 
its tributaries, for that was the name on the box 
cover which he had found near the trapper’s cabin. 

On entering the stream, he found its course was 


155 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


a straight one almost due north for a mile. It was 
quite overshadowed by dense growing spruce with 
beetling cliffs just back on either hand; a split in 
the mountain range apparently. It was a narrow 
lane of water, dark and motionless. It seemed a re- 
lief to hear the low rumble of a fall, and feeling 
the current quicken, Old Renus kept a sharp look- 
out for an opening on either bank that might de- 
note a carry. He soon spied a slight one on the left 
hank, a few lopped away branches which only a 
keen woodsman would notice. But Old Renus saw 
it and with a quick paddle stroke, sent the canoe 
up to it, whereupon Orlo, in the bow, leaped out 
into the bushes. 

A blazed trail was there ; an old one, convincing 
Old Renus that probably their dead trapper had 
outlined it. That the canoe must be carried around 
the rapids ahead was also self-evident, and wast- 
ing no time, two packs of their belongings were 
made for Jim and Levi, while Old Renus and Orlo 
shouldered the canoe. Tracks in the soft deep 
moss were plenty, and keeping on sharply down- 
ward a hundred rods, what had been a low rumble 
changed to a roar, and following the trail to the 
right some ten rods through a tangle of rocks and 
undergrowth, a white leaping cascade appeared. 
Old Renus glanced at it as they lowered the canoe 
to rest, while the boys wondered what would have 


156 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


• happened if they had not pnlled out, then they all 
shouldered their loads and went on. It was a good 
half mile carry, near the stream that pitched and 
bellowed over ledges foaming white, and then a 
tiny lake appeared ahead. Right glad was Orlo to 
lay down his burden, for his round face was wet 
with sweat. 

“Ye did well, Orlo, and all o’ ye,” Old Renus 
commended, smiling at them. “If we come to an- 
other ez long we’ll turn back. We won’t hev 
time ’n’ git home by night.” 

The canoe was repacked and shoved in once 
more, and now a pretty sight was seen, for across 
this lakelet lay a broad lane of foam flecks moving 
slowly towards the farther end to the right, while 
to the left and across the main body, a few score 
of them slowly circled around. At the lake’s out- 
let, a few hidden rocks fretted the slow current, 
and, landing again, Old Renus crawled through the 
undergrowth to look ahead. The stream was slow 
running here, and he soon returned to push out 
and paddle on again. The range of mountains to 
the right and back of them trended about north- 
west. The stream, with only a faint current, 
seemed to follow it, shut in as it was by a dense 
growth of massive trees with only now and then a 
rift of sunlight reaching the water. Here its bot- 
tom, now sandy, and now thickly covered by grass 


157 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and aquatic plants, was plainly visible. And so it 
kept on for all of two miles, still bordered by a 
dense primeval forest of spruce, with trees from 
two to three feet in diameter ; it finally broadened 
out into a vast swamp of hackmatack and cedar, 
where it appeared to lose its way. Lagoons opened 
to right and left, dead trees rose here and there. 
Pairs and small coveys of ducks, paddled away 
from so unusual a sight as a canoe, or rose 
splashing to circle around and light again. 
Over an hour was lost in trying to thread a way 
through this network of passages and find the 
main stream again. It was past noon now, and 
they paddled a mile of slow running stream be- 
fore a hard bank and a chance to cook dinner was 
reached. 

Then Old Renus was in a quandary whether to 
keep on trying to find some clue as to the general 
direction of this stream, or to turn back. So far 
this course had been almost due north, but shut in 
as they were, the range of mountains had not been 
seen, since the open swamp was crossed. 

“I dunno what to do, boys,” he admitted finally. 
“I wanted to git some idee whar we war ’n’ which 
way out, but hain’t yit. It’ll be dark by the time 
we kin git home now. That long uphill carry ’ll 
take an hour ’n’ I ain’t a bit wiser ’n’ I war.” 

“Why not keep on and camp in the woods to- 


158 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


night ?” suggested Orlo, to whom the trip had so 
far been delightful. 

“You can make a bough shelter, can’t you?” Jim 
added. 

“And we’ve got enough to eat?” rejoined Levi. 

“O’ course, all that’s easy,” Old Renus answered, 
“ ’n’ we kin make ourselves comfortable I guess. 
Mebbe we best keep on till dark. We’ll hev to 
start back arly, howsomever. It’s all the way up 
stream goin’ back.” 

From here onward the wilderness opened out 
more, showing birch-covered hills, stretches of 
cedar swamp, and finally a mile long blowdown 
that had grown up with white birches mingled 
with stunted pine again. Two short rapids were 
reached, around which the canoe had to be car- 
ried, and just before the last and longest, another 
stream joined this one. Here Old Renus, always 
on the watch for signs of anything, brute, human, 
game or mineral, espied a more recent footprint on 
the “carry” side of the stream. 

“Somebody went up this last fall, ’n’ down again 
in the spring,” he announced, after lowering their 
canoe and examining a few tracks plainly outlined 
in the moss and soft earth. “ ’N’ thar war two on 
’em ’n’ one wore moccasins.” He picked up their 
canoe again a little excitedly, and pushing on to 
where the trail ended beside the stream, lowered 


15Q 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


it and hurried around, head down, like a hound 
hunting for a trail, while the curious boys fol- 
lowed him. 

“They camped here,” he next announced, com- 
ing upon a bed of dry fir twigs through which 
a few shoots of willow had grown, and upon 
one side of which lay ferns, now brown and pros- 
trate. 

“Camped twice, comin ’n’ goin’,” he added, kick- 
ing the dry bough bed aside. “ ’ISP slept under the 
canoe both times. ’ISP built fire in the same spot ’n’ 
used the same stick to hang a pail on,” he con- 
tinued, pointing to charcoal embers almost hidden 
by wilted ferns, over which stood a dry, forked 
stick. “’ISP one war a white man ’n’ smoked 
cigars.” 

Then the boys’ eyes opened wide with astonish- 
ment, as this wilderness Sherlock Holmes pointed 
to the butt of a cigar scarcely visible under the 
brown grass. To them this quick reading of what 
two men had done here a year ago and then six 
months later, seemed marvelous. 

But the discovery was of scant interest to Old 
Benus, except that it proved the trappers had 
spent a season either alongside the vast swamp 
that had hindered them, or upon the headwaters 
of the stream just joining their own. He also felt 
sure that the dead trapper was the only white 


160 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


man who had ever ascended the stream they had 
followed out. 

And now in double volume it was still running 
north ! 

But the sun was well down now. Whatever 
solution of the question, if any, must be made to- 
day, or they must remain away from camp two 
days ; so Old Renus pushed their canoe in speedily 
and paddled on. 

From here the stream of double size swept on 
for a half-mile like a mill sluice with the bottom 
scarcely visible, then came another open space ; a 
sedge and wild rice swamp, through which the 
stream wound dark and currentless. By this time 
Old Renus had grown discouraged, and decided 
they had better pull out of the stream at the first 
stretch of hard bank, and camp for the night. He 
knew it would take an hour to construct a bough 
lean-to and to bed it, for four could not sleep under 
a canoe. But no upland appeared until the sun 
was below the treetops and night near. 

And then, just ahead and rising above the cedar 
bordered swamp, he saw a low spruce covered hill 
on the left. 

Paddling on now with eager strokes they soon 
came to a bare gravelly point beyond this hillock, 
and to another quite sizable stream which joined 
this one from the south. In front of the hill grew 


161 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


a fringe of brook willows, and back of them a 
thicket of white birch. A “Hooray, boys, we’re all 
right!” came from Old Renus, quick to discern a 
good camp site, and in less than a minute he 
shoved the canoe well out, and camp ax in hand, 
was up among the birches and chopping down two 
and three inch ones in a hurried manner. 

“Git fir boughs up back o’ here, boys,” he di- 
rected, handing Orlo his hunting knife, “ V we’ll 
hev a shack up in no time.” 

They worked quickly, and just as twilight came, 
a wigwam-shaped shelter was completed, bough 
covered, with a foot wide door. A fire was started 
in front, the coffeepot hung over it from a bending 
wambeck, and while Old Renus broiled slices of 
venison, the boys cut fir twigs for a bed, and finally 
added a few armfuls of brown sedge grass from a 
cluster near the stream. 

The sunset glow had faded, the stars began to 
twinkle down at that wildwood camp, an owl 
hooted from the nearby swamp, and the low mur- 
mur of the stream was the only other sound. 

“We’re all hunkey fer tonight,” Old Renus next 
asserted, adding fuel to the fire, then lighting his 
pipe and reclining upon a blanket. “With a few 
boughs pulled over our wigwam door, we’ll sleep 
warm ’n’ snug in spite o’ Jack Frost or anything.” 

“But which way does the stream go ; north do 


162 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


you think !” Orlo asked curiously, knowing why 
the trip had been taken. 

“Wal, it kinder looks so,” Old Renus answered 
nonchalantly. “But it ain’t no use in worryin’. 
We got to toiler it anyway, no matter which way 
it runs. We’ll hev to go slow, too, ’count o’ a heavy 
load, but you boys are young ’n’ nimble to tote the 
stuff round carries, ’n’ so we won’t worry.” 

The boys, healthily tired, dropped off to sleep 
one by one, while the old man smoked and laid 
plans for their ultimate journey out of the wilder- 
ness; but when the fire burned low, and it was 
time to turn in, he, as was his custom, arose to take 
a look around. 

A late rising moon was just appearing as he 
crept through the willows enclosing their camp. 
The shadow of the spruce-covered hill back of 
them lay across the stream in front, while to the 
right and beyond the other one, a bare curve of 
sand a rod in width was outlined distinctly in the 
silvery light. 

And there, squatting upon their haunches, sat 
two big gray wolves ! 


CHAPTEE XV 

O LD RENUS was not frightened by the wild 
denizens of these woods. He knew most 
of them were more afraid of man than he 
need be of them. That a hear would bob away 
out of sight the instant he heard or saw a human 
being, and that a lynx would crouch watchful a 
few moments, then slink away, and that the ordi- 
nary bobcat was even more timid. All three would 
fight if cornered, and on rare occasions a starving 
lynx had been known to attack a human being. 
Panthers were far more dangerous, but were now 
practically extinct in these woods. 

Wolves, however, were an entirely different 
proposition. They were no more afraid of man 
than of a rabbit. 

He knew these two, now squatting and watch- 
ing on the sandy point, had undoubtedly smelt the 
meat cooking, and all that had kept them away 
was the glow of their fire, which even wolves fear. 
On the instant he saw them, white fanged, gaunt 


164 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and spectral in the moonlight, he crouched low and 
crept back through the willows as softly as a cat. 
He might shoot one and probably the flash and 
report would scare the other away. But he would 
not use one of his precious shells. He felt he 
would need them all later. Instead, he freshened 
the fire, in fact piled birch wood upon it until 
crackling flames lit up the bushes all around. He 
next spread his blanket beside the fire, filled and 
lit his pipe, and with rifle handy, stretched himself 
upon the blanket to watch and wait. 

He kept the fire blazing cheerfully hour after 
hour while he lay listening and thinking. The 
moon climbed slowly up, silvering the dark somber 
wilderness. A lynx far away yowled as usual. 
An owl's dismal “hoo hoo-oo” came from some- 
where. Another answered from the swamp they 
had last crossed. A loon’s weird halloo quavered 
through the still night from a distant lake. And 
still Old Eenus lay watchful and alert. Still kept 
his fire ablaze while the boys slept in peace. 

Then after full four hours of this vigil, with the 
moon almost to the zenith, he picked up his rifle 
and crept cautiously out of the willows. 

The wolves had vanished ! 

He looked all around, ever listening, for a long 
five minutes, with eyes upon the bit of beach where 
they had squatted. But only the faint gurgle of 


1 65 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


the streams disturbed the solemn, ethereal night. 
Then he crept back, added his last few sticks to 
the fire, piled boughs and birch tops over the wig- 
wam door and with rifle and blanket crawled 
inside. 

But it was fully one hour longer before sleep 
came to him. 

He was awake at the first light of dawn and had 
the fire blazing cheerfully when the boys emerged. 

“Slept well, did ye?” he queried smilingly. 

“Fine,” answered Orlo, picking bits of sedge 
grass from his jacket. “Only I got chilly towards 
morning and woke up once.” 

They were all shivering and gathered about the 
fire while Old Renus went for a pail of water for 
coffee. He soon had more venison broiling, the | 
boys ate ravenously, as usual, and before sunup, 
they and all their belongings were in the canoe | 
and Old Renus, paddle in hand ready to push off. 
He did so speedily, and swinging their graceful 
craft across the stream they had come down, 
pushed its stern ashore and stepped out. 

“What you after?” Orlo queried curiously. 

“Oh nothin’, jest lookin’ ’round,” Old Renus 
answered vaguely. “Ye know I’m alius lookin’ 
’round.” And those boys never knew that he was 
just then staring down at a dozen big wolf tracks, 
plainly outlined in the sand, or that their faith- 


166 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ful protector had been on guard for four long, 
lonely hours of the night, while they slept in calm 
content. 

It was a long, tiresome, back and arm wearying 
paddle upstream, that day, homeward bound. 
Orlo in the bow kept at it until weary, then Jim 
changed places with him, and took his turn. Levi 
“spelled” Jim in due time, while Old Renus con- 
tinued his long, steady stroke without cessation. 
When a stretch of shallow quick running water 
was reached, he picked up the setting pole and 
shot that “tippy” craft forward, balancing him- 
self like a bicycle rider, and when a carry was 
reached it became a relief to all of them io get out 
and lug a heavy load. 

“Canoein’ down stream is a good deal like 
spendin’ money, boys,” Old Renus said, when a 
stretch of still water was reached. “It goes off so 
easy ye don’t think. Jest seems to vanish same ez 
a river bank goes by. But it’s savin’ ez comes hard, 
like upstream paddlin’. ’N’ ye got to keep at it 
steady to ’mount to anything.” 

A brief halt and rest was taken at midday to 
make coffee and eat smoked venison, and the sun 
was well down ere the long uphill carry was 
reached. And Orlo, exhausted when he finally 
lowered his end of the canoe at its head, laid down 
in the bottom of it when it was launched again, 


167 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

and let Jim paddle for an hour. It was almost 
dark when Old Renus finally pushed the canoe 
prow out on the sandy beach upon which they 
had first stepped foot over six weeks before, and 
even he was more than glad to lay aside his paddle. 

Camp Castaway rose spectral in the gathering 
darkness as they drew near to it, and the cheery 
fire being started, it seemed more like a real home 
to the boys, and doubly so to Old Renus, for within 
its protecting barricade he felt no more fear from 
lurking wolves. 

Supper was soon cooking; an ample one of four 
broiled partridges, two slices of grilled venison 
and hot cotfee with rice biscuit warmed up in the 
old trapper’s tin baker. 

Did that wildwood meal taste good, some boy 
may ask? And did they now stuff themselves 
full? 

In reply we say let any hardy farm boy go into 
the zestful, balsamic wilderness, arise and eat at 
daylight, paddle a canoe all day with merely a bite 
at noon, and then, after twelve hours, have a whole 
broiled partridge and a slice of grilled venison, 
juicy and sweet, set before him, then answer the 
question. 

But Old Renus was not only wearied but glum. 
So far as he could now determine, the stream, that 
must be their only avenue of escape, ran north to 


168 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Hudson Bay. That could be reached, of course, by 
a month or six weeks* canoe journey; then they 
could reach Quebec or Halifax by freight and trad- 
ing vessel. To make that trip, they needed money, 
possibly two hundred dollars or more, to say noth- 
ing of the civilized raiment that must be bought. 
And his entire cash capital was less than five 
dollars! Clearly their only means of reaching 
home must be by the sale of furs. 

Then the canoe question recurred, also the 
wolves. 

One other proof that Hudson Bay must be their 
way of escape had come to him that day, and that 
was the fact that no lumberman had ever pene- 
trated this wilderness. Timber of the finest, mon- 
ster spruce, fir, larch and pine grew alongside the 
sweeping stream they had followed, yet no tote 
roads opened from it. No stranded and rotten 
logs lay beside it. Large and small game and 
forest prowlers being so numerous was proof con- 
clusive that only a few trappers had ever pene- 
trated these wilds, and not one had come to where 
they were. But wearied as he now was he did 
not even take his usual look around before retir- 
ing, so after locking the outer door he crept into 
his narrow bunk and was soon asleep. 

Morning brought a prospect of rain, so the first 
duty was to look over their snares and traps. 


12 


169 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Eifle in hand, Old Benus led a hurried trip to the 
lake bottom. Here, after two days, havoc had come 
to many of their snares, for while ten birds had 
been noosed and lay strangled awaiting their cap- 
tors, as many more had been devoured by foxes 
or cats. Two hours were consumed in rebuilding 
the broken sections of fence, then they hastened 
away to the fox traps. And out of the five set at 
suitable spots, four had scored and two blue and 
two yellow foxes were added to their bag. A bit 
of luck came also, for on reaching his supposed 
silver mine canon, the old man found that the 
trapped lynx had gnawed its fore paw away and 
escaped. He picked up a few more bits of the 
black ore, took the trap back and reset it, this time 
locking its chain around a four inch by ten foot 
sapling. 

“It’s a runway fer cats, this gorge is,” he as- 
sured the boys, “ ’n’ if we ketch one ag’in it’ll 
bother him some to git far away.” 

Three of the mink traps around the pond had 
caught three long black fellows, the two beside the 
trout pools both scoring and scooping out a couple 
of speckled trout, Old Renus hurried on to his two 
big lynx traps. One of these held a yellow-eyed 
prisoner, soon clubbed into quietude and by mid- 
forenoon they were back at camp with the best 
string of game and pelts so far secured. And 


170 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


now, leaving the boys to skin mink and foxes, Old 
Renus betook himself to the blowdown again for* 
a peep at his bear trap and charcoal pit. The first 
was as he had left it, the latter still smouldering, 
and after once more filling his pockets with beech- 
nuts he returned to camp. And just in time, too, 
for a cold rain was falling. This soon developed 
into a driving storm that roared through the woods 
and lashed the pond into tiny waves. 

“We’re lucky not to ’a’ got caught away from 
camp,” said Old Renus, starting a fi*re in the cabin 
to cook dinner. More than pleased was he to find 
that only a few drops of rain came through the 
slate roof. The barricade kept the wind away, 
the cabin remained dry and warm in spite of the 
driving storm, and being so tested, Old Renus felt 
that his unique shelter was all he had hoped for. 
He proceeded with his tailor work that afternoon, 
setting the boys to sewing on the deerskin gar- 
ments, and by supper time warm jackets for each 
of them had been made. A lull soon came in the 
storm, and Orlo and Jim were sent to the trout 
pools to fetch enough fish for supper and these 
fried in deer fat made a most delightful meal. 

Work was kept up that evening by candle and 
firelight, while the storm raged outside. Realiz- 
ing how many long days and weeks they must be 
absolute prisoners here, the old man knew that 


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some employment must be given to these boys, to 
keep them contented. Ice fishing would help on 
warm days, whether they needed the trout or not ; 
a path shoveled to the white birch grove and fuel 
cut would also serve when deep snow came. Work 
on a canoe frame would be a mainstay when shut 
in. But tending traps and snares would be out of 
the question. So Old Renus planned ahead for 
what he knew would be a monotonous life for four 
or five months. 

He plotted a unique reception also for the gray 
brutes he knew would come sneaking around his 
barricade in due time, and decided to cut and fetch 
small logs to attach to all their traps, and set the 
entire fourteen around their barrier. 

“That’ll make it sorter lively fer ’em,” he 
thought, chuckling over his plan. “Kinder gin ’em 
a middlin’ cheerful howdedo, I caPlate. ’N’ those 
who ’scape the traps won’t do a thing to the ketched 
ones.” 

Morning brought no cessation of the storm, but 
being snug and dry now, the castaways kept busy 
at garment making, while the forest moaned and 
creaked in the gale. A lull came late in the after- 
noon, and then Old Renus decided that the traps 
and snares had better be visited. 

“Mebbe this marks the end o’ Injun summer,” he 
asserted, “ ’n’ a cold snap ’ll come now. We may 


172 


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git a week or two o’ open weather, V arter that, 
snow. We best build more fences ’n’ keep after the 
birds while we kin.” 

Only a few partridges had left cover to get 
noosed during the storm, and the next morning 
with ice now bordering the pond, Old Renus, carry- 
ing rifle and camp ax, and the boys with an out- 
fit for an outdoor dinner, hastened over to the lake 
bottom to build fences. Four more were run out 
from its western border some two hundred rods 
apart, and then Old Renus, selecting a sunny 
nook out of the wind, set up an open fireplace of 
stones, and broiled venison and made coffee. 

Three more fences, making fifteen in all, were 
then noosed for business that afternoon, and re- 
turning, a good string of birds was carried to 
camp. 

It was not yet sunset, however, and Old Renus, 
with mind on his bear and the charcoal pit, hur- 
ried away to look after them. It was almost twi- 
light when he drew near to the dark, forbidding 
corner where the trap was set, and with rifle ready, 
he picked his way cautiously forward step by step. 

One, two, three steps, with eyes and ears alert, 
and always stepping upon some stone or fallen 
tree, and a “By Christmas, Pve got him !” came. 

The trap and heavy log were missing ! 


CHAPTER XVI 

F OR many weeks Old Renns had hoped to 
catch a bear, for it meant not only smoked 
hams, salt pork and lard, but a skin that 
would keep them all warm during the coldest 
night. But not until he f found the first big trap did 
he know it was possible. He had read of how one 
fakir in the Maine woods had once claimed that he 
lured a bear into a shallow pit and killed it with 
a half rotten club, but he knew that was a fool 
tale that would not even deceive a man who had 
only read about bears ! But now he had Bruin in 
a trap and knew he could easily be trailed and 
killed. 

The woods were growing shadowy and Old 
Renus turned back ; he strode on hurriedly, oblivi- 
ous of everything, so satisfied was he, until he was 
almost at the entrance to the blowdown; then he 
stopped short, for at that instant a big buck sprang 
from behind a thicket not two rods away and 
halted with head up, listening. And the next in- 


174 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


stant, Old Reims had fired point blank at the deer 
to see it bound high, leap forward three times and 
tumble — dead ! 

It was all over in less than a minute and never 
before had he shot one so like a bird on the wing. 
He slit the deer’s throat speedily, then hastened 
on to meet the excited boys, who hearing the shot 
had visions of a bear or lynx being the quarry. 

“What was it?” they shouted in unison. 

“Oh, nothing but a deer,” came nonchalantly, 
as if shooting one was of no account. “He jest 
bobbed out in sight ’n’ I shot ’fore I thought. We 
don’t much need him ’cept his skin. I’ve got a 
b’ar trapped!” 

This was wonderful news for the boys, and 
surely the most exciting event of their lives was 
now in store for them, for they had never even 
seen a bear. 

That evening appeared interminably long while 
Old Renus described how Bruin must be trailed, 
often a mile or more away through woods and 
swamps. How cautiously an approach must be 
made, lest Bruin break loose and turn pursuer. 
How he had known of a bear, having treed the 
man after him, had then watched him for a full 
day and night. 

“B’ars are wise critters; ’most human,” Old 
Renus concluded. “ ’N’ know more ’n’ any animals 


175 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


liere ’cept beavers. They’ll run the minute they 
ketch sight of a body, generally long afore they’re 
seen. But once trapped or wounded, they go at 
gittin’ revenge wuss ’n’ Injuns.” 

And on the morrow they were to face this 
danger! It was no wonder the boys saw bears in 
their dreams that night. 

This one led them a long pursuit the next morn- 
ing; over a mile. He had left the blowdown to 
ascend the mountain east of their cabin, and how 
he had managed to drag a ten-foot by six-inch log 
through undergrowth among thick trees was a 
mystery. He had been halted, however, by a tree 
and rock close together, and with a hind paw 
holding him prisoner, rose up fully five feet as 
Old Renus drew near. A snarling growl came 
next and just then the boys, well back and huddled 
together, looked for trees to climb. They scarcely 
breathed as Old Renus knelt down and took care- 
ful aim. A spit of fire came, followed by a roar 
of rage from Bruin, who still rushed on. Another 
report rang out through the somber forest, and 
then that king of all wilderness brutes gave a 
final screaming roar, toppled over growling, and 
died with a whimpering cry like a child. 

“Kinder cruel to do it,” Old Renus admitted as 
the boys bounded up, still quivering from fear. 
“But we needed a b’ar the wust way.” 


176 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“It’s goin’ to be butcherin’ day with us now, 
boys,” be added as they looked down at that black, 
shaggy monster as big as a barrel. “We’ll drag 
him down the mountain fust howsomever ’n’ then 
go at it.” 

It took an hour to haul that big bear to camp 
and two more before he was skinned, dressed and 
hanging inside their barricade. Then came the 
deer. 

“Guess we’ve got meat ’nuff ’n’ some over,” Old 
Eenus declared, when the butchering was all fin- 
ished. “But we’r’ goin’ to need a lot this winter.” 

And so it appeared to the boys ; for the two deer 
and this bear hanging in their shed, all of six- 
dozen partridges and the smoked venison lining 
the cabin rafters, seemed more meat than they 
could eat in a year. 

But a little disappointment came to Old Eenus 
to mar this day of big game slaughtering, for the 
rain had put out his coal pit fire and he had to do 
his work over again. More birds were added to 
their catch next day, however, and at least a bushel 
of wild parsnips was brought in ; the festoons of 
drying apples hung out again, and then Old Eenus 
felt satisfied. 

And well he might, for they now had more sup- 
plies than they could consume in six months. 

“I s’pose I might ez well let the boys ketch 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


birds to keep ’em busy,” be soliloquized. “We’ll 
eat them all anyway. ’N’ they’re only goin’ to 
waste here.” 

He next cut his pine trees to make a canoe 
frame, two more paddles, and two snow shovels; 
for he knew all would be needed. He also cut a 
half-dozen extra big white birches and dragged 
them to camp, to use in the “welcome” he meant 
to give the wolves when they came around. Then 
one warm morning, a week later, he left the boys 
fishing, and with a silk blanket, a piece of hollow 
cane and bits of ore, betook himself to his coal 
pit to try and solve the question that had now 
vexed him for two weeks. 

It was quite a problem to rig bellows and con- 
struct a crucible out of slate slabs and blue clay. 
He rigged an apology for one, however. 

He packed bits of charcoal tightly inside, put 
two bits of ore on them with more charcoal on 
top, and started his fire and his bellows. 

The question he meant to solve was so moment- 
ous to him and to his beloved boys that, stolid man 
that he was, he felt himself tremble. 

And no wonder, for locked fast in those bits of 
ore lay the secret of fabulous wealth — or nothing ! 

But not yet would these bits of gray-black ore 
give up their secret. Vainly did Old Renus pump 
away on his crude and leaky makeshift bellows, 


178 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


until the charcoal blazed in blue-white flame and 
the bits of ore grew crimson. No tiny rill of gray 
lead or white silver ran out. Again and again did 
he add charcoal and blow longer and harder. It 
was futile. The secret of centuries could not thus 
be solved. 

“I got to give it up fer now,” the old man sighed. 
“Got to hev hard coal ’n’ slabs o’ slate that fit 
tight. ’N’ a bellows that don’t let out most o’ the 
air.” But how to pry out enough bits of coal from 
that tiny vein without ruining his sheath knife 
was another problem. 

He had little to do now except to cure his bear 
meat, tan the two skins, and add a few more pelts 
to their string before snow came. All he could 
do to the camp had been done. It was as secure 
and comfortable a shelter as it was possible to con- 
struct in the woods with only a knife and an ax. 
More than enough food to last through a long 
cold winter had been secured. Snow would soon 
fall ; it was long past due in this far north region. 
Ice formed on the lake borders each night; the 
wild ducks and geese had all gone southward, and 
the loons had followed. The feel of snow was in 
the air. 

“We’ll take up the traps over ’long the bottom 
this artemoon,” he declared, returning to camp. 
“They hain’t bin doin’ much lately. ’N’ tomorrow 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


we’ll go up the stream at the head o’ the lake ’n’ 
set ’em fer mink ’n’ fisher. Mebbe we might git an 
otter or two.” 

One more fox, a blue one, was found in the 
round-up. Half a dozen more birds added to their 
larder. The mink and big traps were now brought 
in, and the next morning they made an early start 
for the stream entering the lake. Garbed in their 
new deerskin garments and moccasins, the boys 
much resembled young Indians. 

This way of trap setting was a new and inter- 
esting experience to the boys, and as Old Renus 
paddled up the narrow, winding, swamp-bordered 
and currentless brook, the method seemed the 
most romantic one possible, and kin to their erst- 
while boyish plans. 

When Old Renus backed their canoe into a tiny 
cove and set a trap, fastening it to a stake, and 
covered it with moss and hung a half a trout over 
it for bait, they watched him breathlessly, quite 
sure that in such a spot it must score; perhaps 
within an hour or two. 

During these two months of real wilderness life 
they had many delightful and quite perfect hours 
in building snare fences, setting traps, and tending 
them later. But none compared with those two 
hours when, clad as noble Redmen, and squatting 
in a canoe, they followed that dark, devious stream 


180 


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to halt now and then and watch the old hunter 
place the traps. 

They must surely catch something, for the place 
teemed with game. Two muskrats slid off from 
rocks within sight. An otter was seen swimming 
just around a bend in the stream, diving the 
instant they appeared; and a mink was spied 
watching them, quite unafraid, from beneath 
a moss bank. A quarter of a mile further on, 
and with seven of their ten traps set, the stream 
forked and down the smaller one two or three 
bits of green bark and stems of aquatic plants 
came floating. 

“Looks like a beaver’s work,” Old Renus as- 
serted, picking one green stem up and examining 
it. “Guess we’ll take a look-in up this brook.” He 
paddled and pushed their light craft along until 
the brook grew too shallow and the sound of fall- 
ing water came to them. Renus stepped out, drew 
the canoe onto the bank, picked up the three spare 
traps and camp ax, and, followed by the excited 
boys, made his way on up through the tangle 
of alders and cedar beside the brook for a hun- 
dred rods more. Here he halted, stooped, beck- 
oned to the boys and whispered, “I knowed it, 
here ’tis.” 

And looking under the dark thicket they saw 
an opening, and across the brook’s course a dam, 


181 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


four feet high, of small logs, saplings and brush. 

They had come upon that marvel of animal 
craft, a beaver dam. 

“Keep still, boys,” Old Renus once more whis- 
pered, advancing again. “We may ketch one out 
sunnin’.” But none were in sight, for a beaver’s 
hearing is more than acute and these wise animals 
had no doubt heard them from afar. The dam 
was built of cross logs, four to six inches in diame- 
ter and as many feet long, on supports. A slop- 
ing cover of smaller logs was laid crossways above 
them, and over this was a thick mat of brush, 
sedge grass, moss and mud. A pond of fully two 
acres lay above this dam, and rising from it were 
the oval tops of three sod and grass mounds that 
the beavers lived in. Below the dam the stumps 
of small trees and saplings showed where the sup- 
ports for the dam had come from. 

“Wonderful, ain’t it, boys?” Old Renus com- 
mented as they looked about astonished. “No 
human could ’a’ built a dam like that with what 
they hev, teeth, paws ’n’ a broad flat tail. ’N’ ye 
notice the dam is high in the middle ’n’ tapers 
down ez the land slopes up, so it’s level across the 
top? Ain’t that reason? 

“We’ll try ’n’ trap one,” said Old Renus, “ ’n’ 
that’s a cunnin’ trick to do.” And so it appeared 
to the boys who watched him curiously. He went 


182 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


to a spruce tree below the dam, peeled three strips 
of hark from it each about four feet long. Laid 
one and then another down alongside a well 
defined runway at one end of the dam to en- 
able him to step upon this bark walk and 
reach the water’s edge. Here he set a trap with 
its chain fast to a driven stake, all under water. 
He then covered the trap with fine water grass 
and leaves which he secured from the brook. 
Next he spread a few aquatic plant roots taken 
from the brook in the runway above the trap, 
then retreated, picking up his bark walk as he 
did so. 

“Mustn’t leave any tracks for ’em to smell,” he 
explained, returning to the boys, who were watch- 
ing below the dam. “If ye do, it’s all off fer 
ketchin’ a beaver.” He set the other two traps 
in the same careful manner, one midway the dam 
and one at its other end. 

“Beavers are hard to ketch,” he still further 
explained, leading the way to the canoe again. 
“Harder ’n’ even a b’ar, I cal’late. ’N’ if ye ketch 
one in a runway ye won’t ’nother fer at least a 
week in the same spot, fer they git wise easiern ’n’ 
we do. I hope we’ll ketch a couple anyway, fer 
their pelts are wuth ’bout fifty dollars now, ’n’ I 
want to gin ye a taste o’ br’iled beaver tail. It’s 
the sweetest meat ye ever tasted.” 


183 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


So impressed were the boys by that trip up this 
dark, winding, mysterious stream, culminating in 
the finding of the beavers’ dam, that they lived 
it all over again that night, in their dreams. 


CHAPTER XVII 

W HEN Orlo, a few years before, bad set 
three traps for muskrats in an alder 
swamp on his home farm, he dreamed of 
them that night, and when morning came could 
scarcely wait to do his chores before scampering 
pell-mell across lots to visit them. But that keen 
anticipation — to secure a two-shilling skin — was 
not half as compelling as his present hope of catch- 
ing an otter worth perhaps twenty dollars, or, bet- 
ter still, a beaver valued at double that. Besides, 
a beaver, which he had never seen, seemed with its 
human cunning a more than marvelous animal. 
And Jim and Levi were equally excited over the 
situation. 

All three were awake at dawn with Old Renus. 
They donned their new, ill-fitting deerskin gar- 
ments, feeling as though they were noble Red Men. 
They hastened down to the pond to break the thin 
ice and dip a bark basin of water to wash in, and 
could scarcely wait for Old Renus to broil four 


13 


185 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


slices of bear steak for breakfast. He shared 
their excitement in minor degree, but mainly be- 
cause those valuable skins were light to carry 
out and they would need many to pay their way 
home. 

Before starting to visit the newly-set traps, the 
boys dipped a half-dozen small trout out of their 
pool for bait. The camp was closed, and with Old 
Renus following, rifle in hand, they scampered 
down through the neck of woods to their canoe 
like bird dogs ahead of a hunter. When the 
prow of their craft entered the mouth of the mys- 
terious stream, never before had they felt such 
keen anticipation. To visit the line of swamp 
brook traps in a canoe was an experience thrilling 
in its allurement. 

There was reason for that feeling at this hour 
— the sun was not yet above the spruce-clad range 
east of the swamp ; the stream wound like a Titan- 
ic python amid dense alders and birches and now 
and then a group of hackmatack or cedar meeting 
above it, and the alder thickets were white with 
frost. Here and there a huge dead tree rose like 
a specter out of the shadow, while to add an omi- 
nous impress, wreaths of ghostly fog floated away 
from the black water ahead. It was silent as a 
tomb in here also. The splash of an animal out 
of sight came with weird distinctness and as Renus 


186 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


slowly and silently propelled the canoe into this 
somber swamp, it seemed as if even the fragile 
craft feared to enter. 

But some of this illusion vanished when Old 
Renus swung the canoe stern foremost into the 
little inlet where the first trap had been set, and 
the boys saw the bait was gone. They watched 
him breathlessly as he reached over and drew the 
trap chain with trap and big drowned mink out 
of the black water. Anywhere else they would 
have exclaimed gleefully over this luck. Now not 
a whisper escaped them. 

All of this uncanny feeling was banished by the 
next trap, for here a fine otter had tom sedge 
grass and bushes away from the bank in trying 
to escape, finally to end his own life as the mink 
had done. 

“He’s a rouser ’n’ ’ll fetch all o’ twenty dollars,” 
Old Renus whispered gleefully, laying the sleek, 
glossy, two-foot long prize beside the mink. Then 
he set and baited the trap again and pushed out 
into the stream. The boys did not comment above 
a whisper, for they felt that the time, place and 
the beaver dam not far away made silence obliga- 
tory. They noticed that Old Renus kept his pad- 
dle under water to twist it and thus urge the canoe 
on slowly without a sound or even a ripple. They 
were deep in the swamp now. Its vastness seemed 


187 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


more ominous and the spectral trees more ghostly. 
The day previous, with sun overhead, it had ap- 
peared less so. Now in shadow it grew uncanny. 
And so, while Old Renus slowly twisted and turned 
the canoe in their devious course, halting to tend 
the traps in silence, not a whisper or sound came 
to disturb that weird silence. 

But luck did, for out of those seven traps, set 
as only Old Renus could set them, six had scored, 
and when the fork in the stream was reached, four 
mink and a fisher lay beside the otter in the canoe. 
And after pushing up the brook that came from 
the dam to shallow water once more, Old Renus 
signified his plans by tapping his lips, then point- 
ing to the boys’ feet. 

Well did they understand what he wished. 

He laid his paddle down without a sound and 
stepped out as noiselessly. He drew the canoe 
up without breaking a twig, and like a cat creeping 
up to a bird, led the way up through the under- 
growth to a point near the beavers’ dam. They 
crept close to the dam slowly, step by step, to 
finally raise their heads and peep over it. 

And now the enthralled boys beheld what they 
had never even hoped to see — two beavers, dou- 
ble the size of woodchuck, and glossy brown, sit- 
ting upright upon a sod house, watching, while 
three more swam in the pond ! 


188 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


The sun was shining full upon its placid surface, 
glinting from the ripples the swimming animals 
made, while, to add charm to the secluded home 
they had built for themselves, it was almost sur- 
rounded by white birches and stunted poplars with 
leaves now golden. For a long five minutes those 
four visitors, crouching below the dam, gazed on 
this alluring picture, and then, as if an electric 
shock had come to those sagacious creatures, the 
watching ones dove in simultaneously and the 
swimming ones vanished at the same instant. 

“Show’s over ’n’ curtain down,” sang out Old 
Eenus, rising. “Now let’s see if we’ve caught 
one.” 

He hurried to the end of the dam, stooped quick- 
ly and drew the missing trap out of water and in 
it was a monster drowned beaver that thrilled the 
boys as never a trapped prize had before. 

“But ain’t you going to set the trap again!” 
Orlo queried anxiously, as Old Renus led the way 
around to the other trap. 

“Not thar, or mebbe anywhere ag’in fer a few 
days,” the old trapper answered. “The rest are 
too cunnin’ to git caught in the same spot ez one 
did fer a long spell.” 

“But what made him drown himself!” Jim next 
asked. 

“Wal, it’s the way all water animals hev, mink, 


189 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


fisher, otter ’n’ martin, same ez mus’rats. ’N’ if 
they can’t draw the trap into water deep enough, 
they’ll gnaw a paw off to git away. I’ve known 
a beaver to do that, anyway.” 

Another glossy brown prize was drawn out at 
the other end of the dam, and feeling of its thick, 
silky fur, the boys found that not a drop of water 
had penetrated it. “That’s funny,” commented 
Orlo, “I’d think his fur would soak in water.” 

“ ’Twill in time, say in an hour or two,” Old 
Renus responded. “This beaver, in fact both on 
’em, war caught ’arly this mornin’. ’N’ it’s sel- 
dom ye ketch two at the same time. One in a 
trap ’ll keep all the rest from goin’ ashore any- 
where fer two or three days, they’re that cunnin’.” 

“And how many live in this pond!” Levi asked. 

“Wal, from a dozen to twenty, judgin’ by the 
way they’ve thinned out the young poplars long 
this bank ez ye notice. If the pond war drawn 
off you’d find bundles o’ poplar sticks stuck under 
roots or with stones on ’em to keep ’em down. 
’N’ in the houses, bushels o’ roots they’ve stored 
away fer winter. That’s whar beavers live then, 
cornin’ up into their houses to take a nap or hev 
a breathin’ spell. ’Bout once or twice a day they 
hev to do that.” 

The third trap was found unmolested, and tak- 
ing all three, with Jim and Orlo proudly carrying 


190 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


the two beavers by their broad flat tails, they re- 
turned to the canoe. 

“Purty middlin’ good ketch fer one mornin’,” 
Old Eenns asserted, smiling down at his prizes in 
the canoe, while pushing it into the shallow brook. 
“ ’Most two hundred dollars wuth ez furs are sell- 
in’ now. ’N’ tomorrow night we’ll hev broiled bea- 
ver tail fer supper. Jest skin ’n’ salt ’em ’bout six 
hours fust, ’n’ when ye eat ’em ye’ll lick yer fingers 
they’ll taste that good. We’ll set these three traps 
’bove here,” he added, reaching the main stream 
again. “No use in try in’ fer beaver ag’in right 
off. We got to wait till the scare wears away.” 
And when those traps were set, and the canoe 
pointed out of the swamp once more, the boys felt 
like shouting, for never had they enjoyed such a 
supremely happy forenoon. A red letter one, 
never to be forgotten. 

The ghostly impress of the dead trees and the 
ominous one of that black, winding stream had 
both vanished. 

Half a dozen more of the stupidly tame par- 
tridges were added to their ample store that after- 
noon, and in addition to them a bushel of wild 
parsnip roots was pulled from the big bed away 
out in the bottom land. 

The next morning’s trap-tending up that motion- 
less stream, winding midway through a half-mile- 


191 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


wide swamp, proved what a favorite abiding place 
it was for mink, fisher and all that fish-eating 
branch of the cat family, for another otter and 
six more of the smaller fnr-bearing animals were 
secured. The last trap, set in the mouth of a rill 
entering the main stream a mile in and near hard 
soil, while baited for mink, had caught a muskrat. 

“Must ’a’ blundered in,” Old Renus explained, 
pitching the big “squash” into the canoe as if it 
was worthless. “We ain’t skinnin’ those, be we, 
boys?” he asked, while a look of disgust came to 
Orlo. 

“Not for two shillings apiece up here,” Orlo 
answered contemptuously. “I did it once glad 
enough, I s’pose, but then I hadn’t known any- 
thing like this.” 

“Kinder goin’ to spile the old alder swamp* fer 
ye boys when ye git home, ain’t it?” Old Renus 
rejoined, smiling as he set the trap again. “It’s 
alius the way with good fishin’ ’n’ huntin’. ’N’ 
jest the same with eatin’. When all the layout 
war corned beef, taters ’n’ bread ye pitched in ’n’ 
filled up on that ’n’ thought it tasted mighty good. 
But when ye set down to a Thanksgivin’ dinner 
o’ roast turkey, chicken pie, plum puddin’, four 
other kinds o’ pie, nuts, raisins ’n’ ice cream to 
top off, why, ye wouldn’t tech corned beef to start 
on. 


192 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“I noticed totker day when I watched ye fish- 
in’,” he added, after filling and lighting his pipe 
and picking up his paddle, “that when one o’ ye 
boys lost a two-pound trout ye didn’t even yip. Jest 
baited up ’n’ kept on fishin’ ez if nothin’ happened. 
But if ye lost a two-pounder fishin’ in Mizzy Brook 
you’d ’a’ bin heart-broke. ’N’ it’s the same in 
settin’ snares ’n’ trappin’. Once I kin rec’lect 
when one o’ ye ketched a mus’rat wuth a couple 
o’ shillin’s or less, mebbe, ye lugged it home proud- 
er ’n a peacock. Now ye wouldn’t skin one.” 
And then the boys joined in laughter with Old 
Renus. 

“It’s goin’ to be the same way with ye boys 
when ye git on in life ’n’ well off,” he continued 
more philosophically. “Not here I mean, but 
home. Thar, when ye waded a brook barefoot ’n’ 
ketched a string o’ six-inch trout, ye thought it 
war a prime day’s sport ’n’ trudged home happy 
ez larks. When ye grow up, ye won’t look at an 
alder pole ’n’ spice box fer worms, but ye’ll want 
a steel rod, waders, creel ’n’ fly-book to start on. 
’N’ less ye kin go whar thar’s big trout ’n’ sal- 
mon, ye won’t enj’y it at all. Or not over- 
much, anyway. Gittin’ cloyed on anything spiles 
it.” 

That afternoon, with his hopes and heart set 
mainly upon the riddle of his supposed silver 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


mine, Old Renus left the boys to amuse themselves 
filling up the trout pools and betook himself over 
to it. He broke large chunks of the ore into small 
pieces with his camp ax, the better to examine it 
and see how this ore compared with the real silver- 
lead ore as he recalled it fresh from the mine. He 
pounded bits into powder to study that in strong 
light and tried his best to recollect just how the 
bogus “fool ore” looked thus examined. He fol- 
lowed the canon up to its apex to study the over- 
lying rock and also to find some spot where the 
black ore merged into that. 

“It looks like the real stuff,” he said to himself, 
returning to the mouth of the canon with a few 
bits of inside ore. “Pd bet money on it, too, if I 
war a bettin’ man,*’ he added, nodding as if to 
assure himself. “Hez the feel, the look ’n’ color 
o’ the genuine, ’n’ I believe ’tis, sure’s a gun ! ’N’ 
Lordy, Lordy, if only ’tis, what a s’prise I’ll hev 
fer the boys,” he continued, looking far away over 
the lake bottom to the vista of skeleton trees and 
sighing. 

“They’ve bin a heap o’ comfort to me, these few 
years, bless ’em,” he continued, with eyes still upon 
the vista of spectral trees. “More’n I ever s’posed 
boys could be. But if only one war mine, only 
one.” And he sighed. 

For a long ten minutes he sat and watched that 


194 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


vast almost level green area, with here and there 
a flame of scarlet and brown. He watched the 
green range, undulating to westward, with its bor- 
der of yellow birches, and yet saw them not, for 
he had gone back to his own lost youth, in a vine- 
hidden porch, the odor of syringas, and fireflies 
twinkling over a meadow. 

“Wal, I’ve got to find out, if I kin. I jest can’t 
wait,” he asserted finally, and even as he had once 
before put all heart call aside, so did he now arise 
to stride firmly across to the brook defile where 
he had discovered the tiny vein of coal. He had 
brought a couple of long wire nails which he had 
found in the deserted cabin, and with these and 
his camp ax, now set about chipping bits of coal 
out of the rock. Only a few little lumps the 
size of a bean could be thus obtained, then the 
vein appeared to end. He tried another, and, 
in fact, a half-dozen spots, only to find the same 
result, and he concluded that this vein was 
scarcely more than a marking across the brook 
dingle. 

“Thar’s coal ’round here,” he declared finally, 
“or under here anyway. ’Arthquakes war once 
cavortin’ under the crust o’ ’arth here, I cal’late, 
’n’ mebbe squoze up a rim o’ coal. It’s hereabouts 
sure.” 

The prospector once more, he began sleuthing 


1 95 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


around this shallow ravine. Up and down, along 
its border, then on top of the ledge above the 
sheer-faced rock from which a hidden spring 
dripped, he went peeping and peering, until at 
last and hack of the ledge, he came upon one knob 
of black hard coal the size of a man’s fist half 
embedded in rock. 

But not a vestige or sign of any more. 

“I got to gin it up fer now I guess,” he sighed, 
disconsolately, glancing at the sun, now almost 
down to the treetops. “But I’ll take a peek ’long 
this range ’fore I quit fer good.” Then he started 
for camp once more. He had quite forgotten what 
he had in mind in leaving camp, which was to 
look the snares over on his way back, and not un- 
til he came to a brush fence did it occur to him 
again. He looked this over hurriedly, found two 
birds in it, set the snares again, and trotted on to 
the next one to secure three more. And by the 
time he had inspected all the snares along that 
side of the lake bottom, it was nearly dark and 
he had a string of eleven birds. He almost ran 
the rest of the way to camp, to meet the boys near 
it, who were so frightened they were on the verge 
of tears. 

“Oh what happened to you, Uncle Renus ?” Orlo 
cried piteously. “We were awfully scared soon 
as it began to grow dark.” 


196 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Oh, nothin’,” he assured them. “Jest been 
takin’ a look ’round ’n’ stopped to fix some snares.” 

And so overjoyed were the boys, that Jim and 
Levi grabbed the birds, and Orlo took his hand 
to escort him to camp. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


O NLY a few more fair Indian summer days 
consoled the castaways, and on each morn- 
ing they paddled up the dark winding 
stream to look the traps over. Each afternoon the 
snares were tended, and both traps and snares re- 
turned ample results. Old Renus stole away one 
afternoon to follow the range west of the lake bot- 
tom, looking for signs of coal, but with scant re- 
sults. A short shallow seam of it was found a 
quarter of a mile beyond the other one and that 
was all. 

“Looks like Pm stumped fer a spell,” he ad- 
mitted. “But I kin stake out a claim. Make a 
sorter drawin’ o’ the gorge, ’nother o’ the lake bot- 
tom, ’n’ file all o’ the proof at Quebec if we’re whar 
I hope. Then I could hire a man ’n’ come here 
ag’in.” 

Something of more pertinent interest occurred 
just now, though, and that was an immediate 
change in the weather. They had been favored 


198 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


by an unusually long spell of Indian summer with 
frosty mornings only; but now the many signs of 
a change were clear to Old Renus. 

‘TPs grown cold purty fast,” he declared. 
“Thar’s bin a ring ’round the sun fer two days 
now ’n’ a sun dog near it. It’ll freeze hard to- 
night ’n’ tomorrow, ’n’ warm up arter that, ’n’ 
then we’ll git a fall o’ snow, mebbe a foot or two. 
That’s the way it comes up here. I think we best 
go ’n’ take up the traps ’n’ fetch the canoe up to 
camp. If we don’t pick ’em up now we can’t till 
spring.” 

Being thus warned, the trip was decided upon 
and made in a hurry. 

It was almost dark when Old Renus and Orlo 
with the canoe on their shoulders, and Jim and 
Levi carrying traps and paddles, picked their way 
up through the neck of woods between the big 
lake and camp, and a sorry procession it was to 
the boys. So far everything had been to their 
liking. A two months’ camp building, trapping 
and fishing episode now appeared to have reached 
its finale, and grim winter, so long dreaded, was 
close at hand. 

“We’ll cover the canoe with boughs in the morn- 
in’,” Old Renus declared, as he and Orlo turned 
it bottom up in front of the ledge near the camp. 
“We probably won’t use it ag’in anyway.” 


199 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


That last act in the gathering darkness seemed 
to the boys grouped around like the conclusion of 
a funeral. And Old Renus knew exactly how they 
felt. 

“We got to chirk up ’n’ count our blesshTs now, 
boys,” he said, after they entered camp and he 
began to start the fire. “ ’N’ we’ve got a lot on 
’em too. I figger we’ve got most a thousand dol- 
lars wuth o’ fur to say nuthin’ ’bout the b’ar. 
Thar’s two beaver, three lynx, six bobcats ’n’ all 
o’ eighty small skins. All we can possibly carry 
out. ’N’ ez fer game to eat, why we’ll hev to 
leave a pile fer the cats when we go. 

“’N’ do ye know what we’re goin’ to hev fer 
supper tonight?” he continued, as the fire began 
to blaze cheerfully. “Wal, it’s br’iled beaver tail 
fer a side dish ’n’ birds fer the main one. Kin 
ye beat it? I’m goin’ to gin the birds an extra 
tech ’n’ gash ’em with thin slices o’ b’ar pork. 

“Oh, we’re goin’ to hev some fun yit,” this cheer- 
ful optimist declared when they all sat down to 
this wildwood banquet, and he saw that the clouds 
had not quite vanished from the boys’ faces. 
“When snow comes, we kin dig paths to the pond 
’n’ trout pools ’n’ do some ice fishin’ on warm days. 
’N’ jest to show the cats we hain’t forgot ’em, 
we’ll set a few traps fer them.” 

“But suppose the wolves come round, what 


200 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


then?” queried Orlo, voicing the general fear. 

“Wal, we’re ready fer them, too,” smiled Old 
Renus, assuringly. “But they may not come arter 
all. I’m kinder half -willin’ they should, howsom- 
ever, jest to ketch one or two in traps ’n’ hear ’em 
howl while the rest eat ’em up. That’ll be music 
in my ears.” 

But it did not seem so to the boys. 

The evening was passed in sewing on deerskin 
bags to draw on over moccasins and up to their 
knees. 

Morning brought an overcast sky, a keen north 
wind and three inches of ice to be cut through on 
the pond to get water. They did not hurry about 
breakfast, though it was fried bear ham with 
boiled parsnips for the first time. A new kind 
of coffee was also tried; made of three parts 
scorched beechnuts to one of coffee. 

“ ’Tain’t so wuss,” Old Renus asserted, testing 
it. “I’ve made it out o’ all beechnuts many a time. 
I guess we better go arter more today,” he added 
later. “We’ve got ’bout two quarts o’ them now 
but we’ll need a lot more.” After leaving the 
camp snug and fire well banked, they started. 
Beech trees were plenty along the western border 
of the blowndown with yellow leaves still rustling 
in the chilly wind. A few red squirrels were also 
alive to their winter needs, and to the boys, paw- 


14 


201 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


in g among dry leaves, it all seemed like the old 
farm again. Nuts in fair amount were easily 
gathered. By noon a peck was secured, and after 
dinner two extra big trees were found and a full 
bushel added to their store. 

The next morning proved the predictions of Old 
Renus to be true, for it grew warmer in spite of 
a gray, cloudy sky. “We’d better take up the 
snares the fust thing arter breakfast,” he advised, 
“ ’n’ then go fer nuts ag’in over Tongside the bot- 
tom. I noticed quite a few beech trees ’long the 
west side ’n’ ez it’s warmer we’ll take the fixin’s 
with us ’n’ cook dinner in the woods.” 

The start was made early with four blankets to 
rig as a protection at noon, and the needful cook- 
ing utensils. The snares were first picked up, a 
cluster of beech trees located a mile beyond, and 
while the boys began nut gathering again, Old 
Renus prepared an enjoyable outdoor meal. In 
fact, he had only proposed the trip to give the boys 
a pleasant day’s outing. He knew they had an 
ample store of nuts. 

His preparations for this outing dinner, with 
a chilly north wind sweeping along this low moun- 
tain range in fitful blasts, were as usual with him. 
A nook at the southern base of a protruding ledge 
was selected and the undergrowth cleared away. 
A rude stone fireplace was set up in front of this 


202 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ledge, and with two blankets tied np for wind 
shields and two to sit upon, his cozy corner nook 
was now ready. Then after a look at the busy 
boys, he cruised around prospecting once more. 
He followed a bush-choked ravine up the mountain 
slope, crossing and recrossing it on watch for signs 
of coal. He turned north from this along the bor- 
der of the bottom land to a point almost opposite 
where he had found his ore, and here a shallow 
defile led up into the range. This he pursued 
some fifty rods to find that it dipped again and 
he saw below him a crater-like depression filled 
with a tangle of large and small boulders and 
dense growing scrub spruce. “Nice place fer an 
old lynx to hev a hole,” he muttered crawling down 
into it quite unafraid. “Hope I won’t hev to waste 
a shell on one.” 

Midway of this somber tangle of moss-coated 
rocks, with the wind moaning over the green clad 
ledge above, he came upon a chunk of his gray- 
black ore, moss-coated on one side only! 

It was unmistakable, a bushel-sized piece of sil- 
ver-lead ore, and pawing amid the moss and rot- 
ting mould beside it, he found plenty of smaller 
pieces. 

“I ain’t s’prised a mite,” he muttered. “In fact, 
I ’spected this. That gully cross the bottom trends 
no’ east ’n’ so does the hollow I came up.” He 


203 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


next crossed this gap in the range to its southern 
side to find more ore. He turned east again to- 
wards the lake bottom, and once out of this som- 
ber hollow, faced around to peer into it again. 

Right across it and stretched upon a big limp, 
was a yellow-eyed lynx, watching him ! 

It was an easy and most tempting shot. The 
mottled animal fully three feet long, lay motion- 
less not over six rods away. Old Renus knew he 
could almost hit one of those big glaring eyes, 
and much was he tempted to shoot. 

“No, tain’t wuth it,” he said finally, turning 
away with the rifle still under his arm. “I hain’t 
got but fourteen shells ’n’ we’re goin’ to need ’em 
all ’fore spring.” 

He returned to the lake shore, to note that this 
defile lay almost exactly southwest of his silver 
lode and then he strode on to where the boys 
were. The discovery of the ore was of scant in- 
terest to him, for what he did want to fin d was 
hard coal. 

The dinner of broiled venison was what might 
be expected from his ability as a cook, and the 
sun, too, almost penetrated the gray clouds to 
add comfort and cheer. A lazy siesta was taken 
by him later, while the boys went nutting again, 
and, when homeward bound, a good half bushel 
more of the small triangular nuts had been se- 


204 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


cured. But it was their last day’s outing, for when 
the boys peeped out of their cabin the next morn- 
ing, the air was full of white flakes; the pond 
was invisible, and fully six inches of snow had 
fallen. 

The long-dreaded winter had come I 

It snowed all that day, a warm moist fall that 
bent the white birches and lay thick upon the 
spruce boughs. That evening it grew colder. The 
steadily falling snow began to drift and when 
a cold bright day dawned, a foot or more of snow 
hid everything, and a deep drift led away from 
one corner of the cabin. 

“Wal, it’s shovel ’n’ dig paths today, boys,” Old 
Renus announced cheerfully, starting a fire within 
the cabin. “ ’N’ the fust one to the pond for water. 
We ain’t got to hurry no more,” he added, smil- 
ingly. “ ’N’ I’m mighty glad o’ one thing. This 
fust snow failin’ damp ’ll freeze ’n’ coat our roof 
so we’ll be warmer ’n toast in here any time.” An 
optimistic prediction, of course, and akin to ex- 
tracting sunshine from cucumbers, but that was 
Old Renus’ way. 

He led the way in this work after breakfast, and 
by mid-forenoon the interior of their barricade 
had been cleared of snow and swept out with brush 
brooms. A ten-foot wide space in front was shov- 
eled away, also a wide path down to the lake ; and 


205 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


then Old Renus called a halt while he looked 
around and considered. 

“Do ye know, boys, what I think we best do?” 
he asked. “Well, it’s just this. In the fust place, 
now that snow’s come we may hev a call from a 
wolf or two some mornin’ ’n’ we may not o’ course. 
But ez we hev traps ’n’ time ’n’ bait thar’s all 
o’ the mink, cat ’n’ otter carcasses I’ve got hid 
under the slate jest for this purpose — ’n’ knowin’ 
how wolves sneak ’round a cabin at fust in kinder 
circles, workin’ nearer on the lookout, why I 
cal’late we best dig a three-foot wide path ’bout 
thirty feet out from the cabin ’n’ round to the 
ledge on either side. We’ll line it on the inside 
with a layer o’ spruce boughs. Plant four o’ the 
logs we’ve got under snow crossways ’n’ set ’n’ 
bait our big traps two on either side o’ whar our 
path out, crosses this one. My cal’latin’ ’ll be 
that if a wolf should come round we’ll be woke 
up some mornin’ by him yippin’ with a foot in 
a trap. ’N’ it’ll be consolin’ music to all on us. 
We’ll show the fust comer what we think o’ wolves 
in general. Mebbe we best set the little traps, too. 
They won’t hold a wolf ten minutes, but they’ll 
worry him some.” And so delighted were the 
boys over this possible outcome that they set about 
the work with a will. The path was dug as 
planned, and the entire fourteen traps properly 


206 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


set and baited, two small ones being fastened to 
one log with one bait over them, and the big ones 
placed for solitary duty. 

“Now we’re ready fer onr howlin’ friends,” Old 
Renus asserted after spreading moss lightly over 
each trap. “ ’N’ we’ve got suthin’ to anticipate 
likewise.” He was treating the matter lightly, of 
course, but he knew that the arrival of wolves 
meant serious danger, and that they might be kept 
prisoners for weeks at a time. He felt secure in 
this stone cabin, however, but not positive that 
starving wolves would not leap over the barricade. 
If any did, his rifle would be the last resort. He 
knew that sooner or later wolves would appear. 
It might not be for a week, a month, or even more. 
But come they would some day. 

He had not heard one howl for two nights now, 
though he was always alert. He listened as usual 
this evening, meanwhile sewing four wildcat skins 
together for a bedspread, while Orlo and Jim 
played checkers on a box cover properly marked 
by him, with squares of slate of two colors for 
checkers; thus this homelike evening passed with 
no sound from outside except an occasional crack 
of ice from the pond. Then while all three boys 
were intent on their game, suddenly, from close 
by, came the loud snarling howl Old Renus had 
expected! Another in quick response from over 


207 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


on the lake bottom answered, and stopped the 
checker game on the instant. 

“Don’t mind ’em, boys,” Old Renns smiled re- 
assuringly. “We’re ready fer ’em ’n’ traps all 
waitin’. We may hev some good fun by mornin’.” 

Five, ten minutes passed while the boys listened 
and Old Renus sewed. Then again, from close 
by came a yelping bark ! 


CHAPTER XIX 

W HEN Jim went to the pond for water the 
next morning, he found the tracks of two 
wolves crossing the paths twice, once 
near the pond and again nearer the cabin. He 
chopped the hole out hurriedly, filled his pail and 
scampered back as fast as if a wolf were after him. 
Then Old Renus grasped his rifle, and followed 
by the boys, began an investigation. He soon 
found that the tracks came from the lake bot- 
tom, continued to where he had hidden the mink 
carcasses under the slate, and back again whence 
they came. Also that the wolves had pawed the 
heavy, slate slabs away from his bait and evidently 
obtained a good meal. 

“It’s one on me,” he said almost sternly, look- 
ing at the mess of half eaten carcasses still left 
in a rock depression beside the ledge. “Thar war 
two o’ the brutes, a he ’n’ she most likely. They 
come from over the bottom. Smelt my hidden 
bait ’n’ made a bee line for it. They stuffed up 


209 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


full, had a reg’lar feast ’n’ hiked ’thout comin , near 
the cabin. But we’ve got ’em, boys, now, dead 
sure,” he added grimly. “They’ll be back tonight 
or ’arly in the mornin’ fer more feed sure’s a gun. 
’N’ they’ll git it, too — in the legs! We’re jest ez 
sure o’ havin’ fun with them varmits ez the sun 
is o’ risin’.” And so positive of this was he, and 
so anxious, that he did not stop for breakfast 
until all the carcasses, now frozen stiff, were car- 
ried to the cabin, the remnants covered by slate in 
the shallow hole, and the four big traps with logs 
attached, set and properly hidden where they 
would do business. 

“Now we’ll go ’n’ git breakfast,” he directed, 
sweeping snow over their own tracks as they re- 
treated. “Those cusses stole a march on me like 
I war a farmer that never seen a wolf, but they 
can’t do it twice a-goin’. 

“We’ll kinder lay low today, boys,” he added 
later, “ ’n’ keep inside most o’ the time. That’ll 
gin ’em jest the chance they want, ’n’ us too.” 

“But where are they now!” Orlo asked anxious- 
ly, not yet understanding the ways of wolves. 

“Wal, jest now, they’r most likely havin’ a nap 
in some hole longside the bottom land,” came the 
confident answer. “That’s the way o’ most gorged 
animals. They’ll probably git some hungry by 
noon. Come sneakin’ over this way soon arter. 


210 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Mebbe watch out in the woods till most dark ’n’ 
back fer Mother feed by then. They war here 
’bout the crack o’ day, I jedged by the mess 
they left. We won’t hear a yip ’fore they come 
either ’n’ may not ketch sight on ’em. They 
war on watch last night, I cal’late. Seen our 
light o’ course ’n’ when they come again it’ll 
be to dart out o’ the woods nearest the feed 
spot. They’re cunnin’ ez Injuns even if they ain’t 
afraid o’ man. A fire’s the only thing they’re* 
skeery on.” 

Just now the thought of wolves lurking along 
the forest border to dart out like grim avengers 
when twilight came, was not assuring to the boys. 
But they had explicit faith in Old Renus and their 
stone cabin. 

After breakfast he set them to work to whittle 
and carve paddles with their pocket knives from 
slabs of pine he had split out and partially shaped 
with an ax, using one of their own paddles for a 
model. But this was mainly to take up their minds 
and pass the time. When noon came he tried mak- 
ing an apple pie for a treat — and a fair success 
it was — and in the afternoon busied himself whit- 
tling, three-inch wide by one-half inch thick, ribs 
for the canoe which he planned to build. The boys 
grew uneasy late that afternoon, and piled wood 
up to stand upon so they could peep over the bar- 


211 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ricade and watch for the expected wolves. It was 
almost down to zero outside the cabin, and a chilly 
vigil, but so anxious were they and so exciting was 
the prospect of seeing two huge wolves jump into 
the big bear traps, they just had to keep watch by 
turns. Orlo was on watch when the thrilling de- 
nouement came and it was so nearly dark that he 
only saw two gray shadows dart out from the dark 
forest above the pond and make straight for the 
baited traps, not ten rods away. 

“Here they come,” he shouted and the next in- 
stant he saw two shadowy creatures, like big 
gaunt hounds, leap upward, and the air was rent 
with screeching, blood-curdling snarls. 

But dimly could the three excited boys discern 
this unique wildwood drama, and so thrilling was 
it that all sprang outside to better see this 
shadowy fight of two trapped wolves trying to kill 
each other. 

“Go it, ye devils,” exclaimed Old Renus, in high 
glee over his success in trapping. “Keep it up ’n’ 
hev a good time,” he added as a louder medley of 
snarling howls came. “We kin stand it if ye kin. 
Eat each other up, dern ye ’n’ do it quick. Hev a 
good square meal both on ye while ye’re ’bout it. 
Hooray! How do ye like raw wolf with traps 
jinglin’ fer music? Come snoopin’ ’round here 
agin, will ye?” 


212 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Never had the boys even imagined such a de- 
liriously exciting episode. 

How long it lasted they never knew, and not 
until the intermittent snarling finally ceased, and 
they were numb with cold, did they return to that 
j. cheery fire and the protecting cabin which now 
seemed like Heaven to them. 

“We’ll git supper ’n’ fergit our callers, now 
they’ve had their rations,” Old Renus chuckled. 
“I’ve had some luck in trappin’ in my time, but 
j never any quite so consolin’ ez this.” 

But it was a long time before the boys could 
' sleep that night, and they were awake at dawn. 
No breakfast was thought of until they, with clubs 
, and Old Renus with the rifle, sallied forth to in- 
vestigate the wolf battle. And it was a “creepy” 
exhibit of brute nature they now saw, for as Old 
' Renus surmised, these two were male and female ; 
the male had been caught by one hind leg and was 
barely alive, while his mate had a forefoot in one 
trap, a hind leg in another and was frozen stiff. 
Both had torn throats and were covered with 
blood, while the bait under a slate slab had not 
been disturbed. 

“Nice lovin’ pair, wan’t they?” Old Renus said, 
grinning. “But that’s the nature o’ wolves. Both 
got ketched in a jiffy ’n’ went at killin’ each other 
the next minute ’n’ the dog won out.” 

213 


* 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


He rained a shower of blows on the head of the 
inert wolf with a vigor that proved how he re- 
garded the species, and then the two were dragged 
back to camp to be skinned later. 

“We’ll set the traps over ag’in,” he said, after 
this was done, “ ’n’ nse one carcass fer bait. If 
any more come round we’ll hev another wolf cir- 
cus ’n’ I’m cal’latin’ we’ll all in’jy it.” He set the 
traps with more caution this time, clearing the 
snow away from a small space, hanging the wolf 
carcass up against the side of the ledge and spread- 
ing the traps a little more. To add an extra lure he 
roasted a mink body brown and hung that up also. 

“I jest wanter gin the next pair o’ howlers that 
come suthin’ to make their mouths water,” he ex- 
plained, chuckling over his plan. “Suthin’ to 
sorter hurry ’em on to the good time waitin’ fer 
’em. Kinder show ’em our hospitality, so to speak. 
I only wish we had more big traps to keer fer a 
larger party. Howsomever, we’er disposed to be 
entertainin’ ain’t we, boys ?” 

He was not as well satisfied as his facetious- 
ness would seem to indicate, however, for he had 
once been kept prisoner for over a week in a log 
cabin by starving wolves, and not until he had shot 
most of them and witnessed the killed ones de- 
voured, did he venture out. And now he expected 
a similar siege. He knew that if a band of wolves 


214 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


came and the traps disposed of two or three, the 
rest would lay siege to the cabin nntil they were 
killed or starvation drove them away. He listened 
for more wolf howls each evening and early morn- 
ing, when he knew they usually made themselves 
heard, and after another light snow fall he cleared 
the snow away from his traps to be sure they would 
do their duty. Also, with the boys’ help, he shov- 
eled a wide path from the traps to the border of 
the woods east of the pond, and another to its 
outlet, and thence back to the ledge again. “Our 
howlin’ friends alius foller a path if they kin,” he 
explained to the boys, “ ’n’ while no more may call, 
we want to show ’em whar dinner is waitin’ if 
they do.” 

But no more wolf howls came out of the grim 
wilderness for many days after this episode. More 
snow fell. The paths were cleared. Old Renus 
kept the boys working leisurely on the canoe frame 
to give them occupation, but the days passed slow- 
ly. With the excitement of camp-building, trap- 
ping, fishing and other incidents of wilderness life 
they had been quite content, and keenly interested 
withal ; but shut in as they were now in a twelve- 
foot square cabin with the weather too cold for 
ice fishing, and naught to do but whittle on canoe 
ribs, eat and sleep, life soon became desperately 
monotonous. Old Renus had foreseen this. He 


215 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


had done everything that was possible to keep the 
boys busy, but he had no power over their minds. 
He conjured up endless occupations for them, one 
of which was to widen the wolf path, as he called 
it, and to bank the snow high on the cabin side 
like a redoubt. Then they gathered a fringe of 
spruce boughs and thrust them into the top of this 
snow wall. The weather grew steadily colder, and 
the days became shorter until, by Orlo’s watch, 
their only timepiece, the sun set at about four 
o’clock. Meanwhile, no more ominous wolf calls 
were heard. 

The weather moderated slightly now. A warm 
day came and then Old Renus hilariously led his 
doleful boys to the pond to cut through foot-thick 
ice and set a few lines. They didn’t need trout; 
they had more in the pools than they could eat all 
winter. But it was some diversion, at least. A cold 
snap succeeded this warm wave, so keen that fire 
had to be kept going all night. And that evening 
sharp reports like distant rifle shots came from 
the forest. 

“It’s rocks crackin’ away from ledges ’long the 
range,” Old Renus explained. “It’s alius that way 
when it gits thirty or forty below zero ez I caPlate 
’tis tonight. Ye see it’s the drip o’ springs in deep 
cracks or water-soaked rock that freezes ’n’ suthin 
hez to give way. That’s how gullies git filled with 


216 


CAMP, CASTAWAY 


loose boulders. Most are split off by frost. We’re 
like to git a big snow fall arter this.” 

It came two days later at noon, after a decided 
rise in the temperature, and never had the boys 
seen snow fall so thick and fast. It was as if the 
air was an almost solid body of falling flakes, and 
by dark the snow lay a foot deep in their enclosure. 
It continued to fall steadily until sometime to- 
wards morning, when Old Renus was wakened by 
the rising roar of a blizzard. 

“The Lord help us if we wan’t in a stone cabin 
with a slate roof just now,” he muttered as the 
bellowing roar increased. Then Orlo, in the bunk 
below, called up to him. 

“Are you awake, Uncle Renus?” he asked. 

“Wal, kinder,” the old man answered. “But 
better go to sleep ag’in. ’Tain’t mornin’ yit.” 

But the boys were all wide-awake, for the roar- 
ing, screaming gale banished slumber. The next 
thing Old Renus heard was Orlo starting the fire. 
Then Jim and Levi crawled out from under their 
bear skin and their old hero joined them. 

“Kinder nice to feel we hev a slate roof ’n’ stone 
walls jest now, ain’t it, boys?” he said cheerily, 
as the flames brightened. “What time is it, Orlo?” 

“Just four o’clock,” Orlo answered, consulting 
his “Waterbury.” “And I’m hungry.” 

“Good sign, fust rate,” came the smiling re- 


15 


217 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


joinder. “ ’N’ when ye feel so it’s time to eat. 
I’m willin’ myself.” 

And so it came to pass that those fonr cast- 
aways now ensconced in a rude stone hut in a 
Canadian wilderness, broiled partridges, fried 
bear ham and made coffee with daylight full four 
hours away, and fully enjoyed the feast. 

“We’er prisoners here now,” Old Renus an- 
nounced. “But we’re a million times better off ’n’ 
we war up in that balloon. Time is goin’ to go 
slow with us, but we’ve got to grin ’n’ bear it. 
We’re safe here ’n’ goin’ to keep warm ’n’ grow fat. 
’N’ thar’s a billion people in this world wuss off ’n’ 
we are. When ye git blue think o’ that. You’ve 
got over a thousand dollars wuth o’ furs to take 
out in the spring likewise fer pocket money, so 
keep cheerful ’thout ye want to make me blue.” 

While this was the first, it was not the last time 
he had to count their blessings for them. 


CHAPTER XX 

A FTER Old Reims and the boys had disposed 
of that unique repast, the cheery flames, the 
warm cabin and the sense of security, com- 
bined with the dull roar of the gale, soon made 
them drowsy, and glad to crawl into their bunks 
again. It was long after daylight before they 
woke to find full four feet of snow within their 
barricade and a drift as high as the hut leading 
away from it. Old Boreas was still raging and 
roaring, and the air was white with driven snow. 
Great wreaths and blasts of it came leaping over 
the ledge top to be torn and swept along in the 
wind. Naught was visible except this white scurry 
of dense snowflakes sweeping across the open 
space ; not even the spruce forest that creaked and 
groaned in the whistling gale. To go outside their 
sapling wall was impossible. Orlo waded waist- 
deep inside, to get supplies from the stone shed. 
Water for coffee had to be made from melted 
snow. Their one window hole, over which Old 


219 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Benus had fastened a bit of silk, admitted a little 
light and more snow. The slate and sapling door 
had to be calked with rice straw and most of their 
light came from the fire and one candle. But for 
all that no one grumbled or felt alarmed. 

“Let ’er blow ’n’ howl V pelt, who cares V 9 Old 
Benus declared cheerfully. “This stone shack is 
here to stay put , n’ Twill, too. ’N’ we kin hev four 
meals a day. Keep it up dern ye,” he added as a 
louder bellow came. “No wind kin skeer us, kin 
it, boys?” 

The blizzard continued all day and far into the 
next night. 

The boys had seen old-fashioned snow storms 
that covered Oakham two feet deep and filled every 
cut in the highways level full, but nothing to com- 
pare with this, for when the sun once more smiled 
down into that wilderness nook, over six feet of 
snow hid the outlines of the pond shore, while the 
ledge back of them had practically vanished. They 
shoveled a narrow path to the pond first, then 
cleared out their dooryard. It now occurred to 
Old Benus that if a slight rain came and a snow 
crust formed, nothing could prevent a band of 
hungry wolves from leaping into their yard. 

“We got to head that off right away,” he de- 
clared to the boys, and to work they went, using 
their silk cover-lids to carry the ”pesky stuff” out 


220 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


to a wind swept spot near the pond. And an all 
day’s job it was. The half-circle path to the traps 
was then dng out, with the open space around 
them, and after fully three days of steady work 
he once more had his guiding path ready with a 
ten-foot high snow barrier along the cabin side. 

“Now dern ye, come on ’n’ eat, drink ’n’ dance 
in steel traps ’n’ hev a good time,” he said to him- 
self, looking their redoubt over. “Ye may worry 
us some but ye can’t git at us.” 

And that evening, as if to answer his defiance, 
and for the first time since the two wolves met 
their fate, he heard an ominous howl, and within 
an hour a full chorus echoed from the lake bot- 
tom. 

It was to be a wolf evening he was sure. It was 
crisp and cold with a bright new moon. He knew 
that most of their roving was done on moonlit 
nights, and that if a crust should form now, they 
would soon appear. The boys were much alarmed. 

“Oh, they’ll show up most likely,” the old man 
admitted, in answer to Levi’s anxious question. 
“Mebbe not till a crust comes. But don’t git 
skeered ’n’ worry, boys ; we’re ready fer ’em. In 
the mornin’ we’ll dig out the small traps ’n’ scat- 
ter ’em ’long the new path to bother the devils.” 

Morning brought a south wind, and later, rain, 
both of which lowered the snow to about four feet. 


221 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and the next afternoon a misty fog followed. 
“We’re goin’ to git a snow crust by morning” Old 
Renus declared when the wind shifted at sunset, 
and at once set about readjusting the traps. That 
evening, as if their nimble enemies knew that the 
forest would soon become a smooth road for them, 
they began their calls to one another. They 
seemed to be all about and a faint howl from west 
of the lake would be answered by a louder one 
nearer by. 

“They’re gittin’ ready fer the warpath,” came 
a little anxiously from Renus, as a sharp yelp 
from the blowdown brought a prolonged howl 
from the lake bottom. “The moose ’n’ deer alius 
yard up after a heavy snowfall ’n’ then is when 
the wolves band together. ’N’ they’ll stick to- 
gether all winter ’n’ hang around one o’ those 
yards. 

“We’re safe ez we kin be, boys,” he added later, 
beginning to cook supper. “So don’t git narvous. 
We may be shut up a week or two ez I said, but 
no wolves kin git at us here.” And yet the boys 
were scared, for that old trapper’s fate had been 
an object lesson, and to hear — as they now did — 
those weird, snarling howls from all about, was 
ominous. They had faith in Old Renus and their 
stone hut, and yet to feel that a score of those 
fierce, white-fanged brutes were laying siege to 


222 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


them, was fearsome. They had read that Siberian 
wolf packs would not only pursue sledges for 
hours to overtake and tear the occupants to pieces, 
but would fight and claw their way into cabins, too. 
And now those same savage brutes were gathering 
about their cabin ! It is needless to say they slept 
little that night in spite of the assurances of Old 
Renus. 

The next morning, Orlo and Jim with the ax 
and two small pails, hastened to the lake to get 
water. They glanced hurriedly around the bor- 
dering forest, chopped the water hole open, filled 
the pails and happening to look across to the woods 
again, saw two gray wolves darting out of the for- 
est towards them. 

The speed they made back to the cabin would 
have done credit to a base runner ! 

It was a close call, for their two pursuers were 
not five rods away when they dashed through the 
barricade gate shouting, “The wolves are coming; 
get the rifle, quick!” A succession of snarling 
barks came as the two brutes halted a few rods 
from the cabin, then a howl came from one, and 
when Old Renus looked out he saw six more just 
appearing from the bordering forest. 

What he had so long feared had come. They 
were surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves and 
were prisoners. 


223 


CAMP, CASTAWAY 


“Don’t be steered, boys,” be said assuringly. 
“They won’t try to jump our barricade anyhow so 
we kin laugh at ’em.” 

But there were no smiles on the boys’ faces, for, 
as they peeped through the fringe of birch poles 
above their barricade, they all saw a group of ten 
wolves a few rods away watching the cabin and 
more appearing from the dark woods. This so 
terrorized the boys that they shook with fear and 
never thought of breakfast. A concerted howl 
next came from the wolf pack, now grouped to- 
gether. A weird, long-drawn one, bloodcurdling 
in its ferocity, that echoed across the open space 
in the wilderness. 

“There’ll be suthin doin’ ’fore long,” Old Renus 
asserted grimly, watching this gray group of 
wolves, so near that the red pupils of their vicious 
eyes were visible. “They’re kinder stumped by 
the cabin ’n’ smoke risin’ out, but soon they’ll smell 
our bait ’n’ rush for’t ’n’ then it’ll be our turn to 
laugh.” 

This soon happened, for after two more con- 
certed howls, first one wolf raised his head and 
sniffed, another did the same, then the pack, as 
if by one impulse, darted to the carcass hanging 
against the ledge and the waiting traps. 

So tense was this crucial moment that the boys’ 
hearts almost stopped beating. 


224 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


It was a drama of wild brute life and death few 
ever witness, for in an instant the foremost wolf, 
with his paw in a trap, leaped up with a snarling 
howl, a second and third met the same fate and the 
next moment four pairs of eyes not ten rods away 
saw a group of white-fanged wolves biting, snarl- 
ing and tearing at the throats of the three who 
fought back as only trapped wolves will; a confu- 
sion of lanky gray bodies and barking snarls, ter- 
rible in their vicious intensity. Two then sprang 
for the hanging carcass; three more leaped for- 
ward to fight for their share of that, snapping at 
one another in the melee. Moans and snarls of 
pain came from the trapped ones, being bitten and 
torn by sharp teeth. First one, then another and 
finally a third wolf darted out of the woods to 
join in the mad combat. A howling, leaping, snarl- 
ing medley of gray bodies leaping and tearing at 
one another. 

Over all the morning sun shone fair and bright, 
and the snow sparkled. 

“Nice social time they’re havin’,” Old Renus 
chuckled. “Go it ye devils,” he added, as a pro- 
longed howl came from one with the fangs of an- 
other deep in his throat. “Keep it up ’n’ inj’y 
yerselves,” he shouted hilariously. “Eat ’n’ be 
merry while it lasts ! Ye don’t git hot wolf served 
in traps more’n once in a lifetime ’n’ so fill up. 


225 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


If I had shells to spare, Pd help ye to another 
course o’ raw wolf.” For a half-hour those four, 
thrilled through and through, watched that death 
banquet. It came to an end finally and one by one 
the blood-stained wolves sneaked away into the 
dark forest. 

“Can you set the traps over again ?” Orlo asked 
anxiously, when the last wolf vanished. 

“Wal, I want to,” Old Renus answered eagerly. 
“But it’s purty risky to do it now. It’ll hev to be 
done now or never though, while them devils hev 
had a feed. I believe I’ll chance it,” he added, en- 
tering the cabin. “It’s our white alley, these traps 
are. Ye boys watch sharp while I’m settin’ the 
traps ’n’ yell the moment ye spy a wolf in sight.” 

“Shan’t I go too, Uncle Renus, to hold the gunf ’ 
Orlo asked. 

“No need; ye can’t help,” answered Old Renus, 
picking up the rifle. “The traps are ’bout midway 
to the woods from here, ’n’ if a wolf shows up, 
I think I kin make it.” Then with rifle in hand 
this brave old woodsman left the cabin on what 
was a decidedly risky errand. 

He found a gory exhibit; the bones of three 
wolves in four traps, half-hidden by blood-stained 
snow, a gruesome and disgusting disclosure of ani- 
mal carnage. He set the four traps hastily, keep- 
ing one eye on the nearby woods. He tossed the 


226 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


gnawed skeletons in a pile at the foot of the ledge. 
He waded to where he had the bait hidden and 
dng some out, and, ready for more wolves, he re- 
turned to the cabin with bloody hands. 

“ We’ll git some water now,” he next directed, 
“ hi’ hev breakfast. And it seemed' about time for 
it, as it was almost noon. 

The wolf siege that Old Renus had feared was 
now on and well he knew it. He also knew that the 
ten or twelve that had escaped the traps would 
lurk around their cabin with blood-whetted appe- 
tites for weeks, probably. A few might be caught 
in the traps, to be speedily devoured, but more 
would come to take their places, and knowing their 
habits as he did, he knew that they, with vultures 
and crows, possessed an instinct to gather from 
afar where food had been found, to share it; and 
that until starved away or some one of these wild 
rangers signaled that a moose or deer yard had 
been found, they would hang around the camp 
with its scent of meat and cooking, a continual 
menace day and night. 

He had kept this danger and knowledge from the 
boys as long as he could, but now it was upon 
them, and must be met. 

“We got to keep shut up, boys, fer no tellin’ 
how long,” he explained, cooking a late breakfast. 
« >N’ the wust on’t is we can’t tell when wolves are 


227 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


hidin' round in the woods waitin' to dart out or 
when they hev gone fer good. They've got scent 
o' ns 'n' onr meat. 'N' in a way they're like crows. 
They'll pass the word on by some sort o' howl ‘n' 
we may hev two-dozen or more hangin' round. 
We kin dodge out 'n' set the traps over, 'n' hev a 
little fun hearin' or seein' the ketched ones eat up. 
We kin sneak down to the pond fer water, but 
that's all fer a spell. If I had shells nutf I'd soon 
pick the pack off one at a time but I hain't." 

“They can't git into our cabin, can they?" Jim 
queried anxiously, “or over the barricade?" 

“Not into the cabin," came the firm answer, “ 'n' 
I feel middlin' safe 'bout our barricade. It's in 
case one should I've been savin’ the shells. One 
might jump over 'n' then I'd hev to shoot him." 

The boys built a higher platform of wood so 
they could better look out over the barricade and 
often watched for their enemies. A few were seen 
near the woods that afternoon, and towards night- 
fall the intermittent barking and weird howling 
began. Two or three ventured close to the cabin, 
and just after sunset a chorus of howls and snarl- 
ing barks announced that the traps had once more 
done their duty. A pandemonium of wolf cries 
and sharp snarls ensued, and, watching eagerly, 
the boys could faintly discern a group of wolves 
fighting madly in a confused heap. 


228 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“They’r havin’ Mother lively supper,” Old Renus 
announced cheerfully, now cooking their own. “ ’N’ 
that’s what suits us, boys, don’t it? If we kin keep 
our traps set between times, we may thin the devils 
out some. We needn’t worry anyhow. We’re safe 
here.” But it was a kind of safety decidedly 
nerve-racking to the boys. How many wolves were 
now lurking about they knew not, hut there were 
enough to keep them in continual fear, for, watch- 
ing out with the new moon faintly lighting the 
open space, half a dozen could be seen squatting 
in the path between pond and cabin. An occasional 
howl came from the dark woods to add weird in- 
terest to that long evening, and sleep came fitfully, 
dominated by wolves. 

None were visible when morning dawned, how- 
ever, and after a careful scrutiny of the bordering 
woods, Old Renus decided that he and Orlo might 
venture out to get water. 

“ I dunno what to do ’bout the traps,” he ad- 
mitted later. “To set ’em means ketchin’ one or 
two o’ the cusses ’n’ givin’ the rest a meal, ’n’ 
they’ll never go away till they’re starved away. 
Mebbe we best wait a day or two ’n’ see how they 
act. Thar’s no tellin’ what wolves will do. It’s 
hard to git a line on ’em.” 

“Are they watching us from the woods all the 
time now?” Orlo asked anxiously. 


229 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Wal, mebbe, one or two,” dubiously. “Ez I 
said wolves act curi’s. They call one ’nother. 
They run in packs. They vanish ’thout a yip 
mebbe fer a day or two , n > the next ye know out 
o’ the woods they come like ghosts. It’s this on- 
sartin way that keeps me guessin\” 

For a week the inmates of Camp Castaway 
were kept prisoners and while each evening a 
few distant howls came from far away, not a wolf 
was seen. The traps were set and baited properly 
again, and twice a day Old Renus and Orlo made 
a hasty trip to the pond. A few inches of snow 
fell and the next morning Old Renus was awakened 
by a peculiar scratching and growling and peeped 
out just in time to see a wolf draw himself up onto 
the barricade and glare down at him with red-rim- 
med eyes. 


CHAPTER XXI 

F OR one instant Old Renns glanced at that 
gray shaggy-haired animal, glaring down 
at him, then he wheeled, and grasping his 
rifle, sent a bullet through its head. 

But the effect of this episode upon the boys was 
almost pitiful. Their faith in the barricade was 
rudely shaken and naturally they were much 
alarmed. 

“He meant to steal a march on us,” Old Renus 
told them, leading the way outside, rifle in hand. 
“But we wan’t caught nappin’. He climbed up on 
the frozen snow,” he added, while they all stared 
at the dead wolf lying at the foot of the drift slop- 
ing away from the barricade, “but the poles halted 
him. Probably smelt our meat ’n’ took a chance 
to git at it that way. We’ll head off any more 
’arly comers.” He looked all around the open 
but no wolves were visible. 

“I’d orter thought o’ that drift,” Old Renus ad- 
mitted. “But it’s time ’nuff now. Arter breakfast 


231 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


we’ll go at it.” They did so, cutting away big 
chunks of the frozen snow from near the barrier 
until a ten foot space all around had been cleared. 
The old man also examined the poles stuck in this 
to find them held firmly in place by the frozen 
snow, which reassured the boys considerably. “No 
need to worry a mite,” he said to them after this. 
“While a wolf might jump up top o’ our wall, none 
are likely too. ’N’ if one did the poles ud stop 
him. All our danger is in gettin’ caught ’way 
from the cabin. My notion is that the pack hev 
got track o’ a moose or deer yard ’n’ gone off for 
a spell. Or mebbe the trapped ones they eat up 
kinder acted ez a warnin’. Guess we better set 
the traps over agin.” And set them he did, after 
half-skinning the wolf he had just shot, for bait. 

But the elusive wolves had vanished as myste- 
riously as they came. No howls quavered through 
the wilderness that night or the next, and although 
they kept close within their barricade for a few 
days, this confinement seemed needless and life 
at Camp Castaway resumed its winter monotony. 
A lynx smelt out the bait one night and was 
caught in two traps, but was not discovered until 
a few days later, when Old Renus chanced to visit 
them after a snowfall. The path to the pond and 
to the traps was kept clear. Also the space around 
the cabin. When the boys felt trout hungry, they 


232 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


made a visit to the pools and work on the canoe 
frame kept np in a desultory manner. A sharp, 
cold spell came at intervals, accompanied by rock- 
splitting reports from the mountains, and for 
weeks Old Renus heard but one far-distant wolf 
howl. The days began to grow perceptibly longer, 
the canoe frame was finished and, lacking work to 
do, the boys grew uneasy and disconsolate. So far 
they had borne their imprisonment with fair 
cheerfulness, sleeping late each morning, working 
on the canoe frame, cooking and eating bountiful 
meals, and playing checkers in the evenings or 
listening to the stories and adventures of Old 
Renus. 

But strange to say, not a single wolf howl had 
been heard for a month. 

“Some one on ’em found a deer yard,” he ex- 
plained to the boys one evening, “ ’n’ called our 
bunch to it. That’s why they left so suddenly. 
Deer alius yard up arter a heavy snow fall ez we 
had then. That is, a few on ’em, mebbe jest a pair 
find an open spot in a swamp whar sedge grass 
grows thick. Here they toss the snow away with 
their horns to git the dry grass ’n’ keep at it till 
they ’ev made a yard to lay down in nights. They 
call to one another too, till mebbe a dozen or more 
come. When wolves show up the bucks fight ’em 
off with their antlers ’n’ kill some too. They’ll 


16 


233 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


fight lynx the same way. I once found a yard with 
over two dozen in it. When wolves come the bucks 
stand outside to fight the wolves with the does 
back on ’em. ’N’ a buck with a good set o’ antlers 
kin kill a wolf quite handy. O’ course a deer or 
two growip’ hungry will work out o’ the yard to 
dig ’n’ find dry grass ’n’ leaves ’n’ their feet go 
through the crust, they can’t run ’n’ then the 
wolves kill ’em quick. ’N’ that’s what keeps a pack 
hangin’ round a yard, arter a deep crusted snow 
has held the deer in fer weeks.” And such was the 
explanation and probable reason why Camp Cast- 
away had so long been deserted by wolves. 

Time dragged slowly for the boys and they 
began to grow homesick in spite of all Old Renus 
could say or do. He made work for them to pass 
the time; had them shovel a wide path from the 
woods east of the pond to the wolf traps ; another 
well away and around the cabin to the same spot ; 
still another up to the trout pools, and then they 
widened the space about the cabin to make a ten- 
foot high snow wall. And finally when a warm 
day came, they dug a path across the lake, cut 
holes and went to fishing. 

But the old woodsman kept ever on the watch 
for wolves. 

He knew they would appear again and without 
one howl of warning. Probably just at night or 


234 



“He wheeled, and grasping his rifle, sent a bullet through its 
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CAMP CASTAWAY 


early morning a pair or perhaps a dozen would 
dart out of the dark woods, and woe to him or the 
boys if they were caught unawares. 

He tried to determine by the moon’s return how 
much of the winter had passed, and when its first 
crescent showed in the west, he decided it must be 
the last of February. But his hardest task was to 
keep the boys in good spirits. 

“We jest got to keep cheerful ’n’ wait fer 
spring,” he said to them one evening when home- 
sickness made them so glum that neither checkers 
nor stories interested them. “If ye had a jail 
term to serve, ye’d jest hev to grin ’n’ bear it any- 
way. Now look at this the same way. We’re here 
’n’ can’t git away. But we hev a lot o’ comforts all 
the time. ’Nuff to eat ’n’ good stuff. Warm beds 
’n’ wood to keep fire goin’. It’s well long towards 
spring, the last o’ February, I cal’late, ’n’ in a few 
weeks more, we kin begin building a new canoe. 
’N’ think o’ the fun we’ll hev paddlin’ out all the 
way downstream, just shootin’ long with the cur- 
rent ’n’ campin’ when night comes. We’ll make 
a tent outen our silk quilts. We’ll sell our furs fer 
all o’ a thousand dollars, buy some bang-up clothes 
’n’ hev a sight seein’ trip goin’ home. ’N’ won’t we 
s’prise the folks when we git to Oakham? ’N’ won’t 
ye boys hev some stories to tell wuth hearin’ ? ’N’ 
a lot o’ money to put in the bank too.” 


235 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


And thus did Old Renus try to cheer up the 
homesick boys. 

A week later came a warm south wind with rain 
and fog, that cut the snow away to less than a foot 
deep in the woods, and filled the pond so an im- 
passable stream coursed down into the big lake. 
A cold wave followed that turned the soggy snow 
into almost solid ice and then a light snow came 
after. Old Renus reset his traps, for, knowing 
what this thaw meant in the woods, he felt sure 
the wolves would soon reappear. He measured 
their peculiar roving habits aright, for that eve- 
ning for the first time in a month, their uncanny 
barking howls were heard again. But this time 
they came from north beyond the blowdown, 
and finally from close by the pond. 

“Our friends are plannin’ ’nother call on us, 
boys,” he admitted cheerfully, “but the traps are 
ready ’n’ we too. It’s curi’s how the varmints 
can’t learn anything, ain’t it? We ketched seven 
in the traps already to be eat up by the rest ’n’ 
yit back they come fer more o’ that fun. No other 
critters ud be sich fools.” 

He, with all the boys this time, stepped outside 
the barricade to look around before turning in. 
The moon, now in its last quarter, was just rising 
over the mountains ; its mild beams glinted on the 
smooth ice in the pond and on the ice-coated rocks, 


236 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and a wolf call close by in the blowdown was 
answered by one far away, yet clear and distinct 
in the still air. 

And on returning, Old Renus, the last in and 
with his mind on his traps, failed to fasten the 
door of the barricade ! 

He slept fitfully that night, expecting as he did 
a visit from wolves by early dawn and was 
awakened then by a snarling growl close to the 
cabin door. He arose instantly fully clothed, 
opened the cabin door and stepped out. 

The next moment with a sharp growl a wolf 
leaped upon him! 

He grasped the brute by the throat with both 
hands, yelled “git my knife out quick, Orlo V 
stab him,” as the boys jumped out of bed. Quick 
to act, Orlo drew the hunting knife from the belt 
of Old Renus and stabbed the struggling brute 
again and again. It was quick action, but the 
sharp blade reached a vital point, and soon Old 
Renus, blood covered, felt the struggling animal 
grow limp in his hands. 

“Git my rifle quick,” he shouted, throwing the 
wolf away from him, and the next instant he had 
shot a second one ten feet away. 

“Wal, ’twas a close call,” Old Renus admitted, 
glancing at the two dead wolves and the quarter 
of venison they had been feeding upon, also at the 


237 


CAME CASTAWAY 


open door of the barricade. “Closer ’n’ I like,” he 
added, looking at his bloody hands. And he was 
a gory object; covered with blood from the stabs 
Orlo had given the struggling wolf. “It’s on me,” 
he continued, now bolting the open door. “I must 
’a’ left the door open ’n’ the devils got in.” And 
just then as if to add to the thrilling episode, a 
chorus of snarling howls came from the traps. 

“Hooray, they’re at it ag’in,” he shouted, recov- 
ering himself a little and never before were the 
howls of trapped wolves more welcome to human 
ears. 

The boys were like limp rags in their fright. It 
had all come upon them so suddenly, Orlo being 
the only one awake when Old Renus shouted for 
help. It seemed like a horrible nightmare. 

“We’re safe, so cheer up,” Old Renus assured 
the trembling boys, while he wiped his bloody 
hands. “ ’N’ now let’s take a peek ’n’ see the fun.” 

Fun it was to him, to see, in the dim morning 
light, two trapped wolves fighting for life against 
a dozen gray brutes, tearing at one another’s 
throats amid the howling confusion. The snarl- 
ing and fighting kept on for half an hour ; the free 
beasts devouring the helpless ones; a cannibal 
orgy possible only to hungry wolves and to no 
other animals. It was all over when the sun rose 
and smiled down on that nook in the wilderness, 


238 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


[for then the brutes, fierce and vile among all 
others, slunk away into the shadowy forest. 

And never was sunshine more welcome to Old 
Eenus and the scared boys than at this moment. 
The invasion of their barricade ; Old Renus grasp- 
ing a white-fanged wolf by its throat, while Orlo 
stabbed it, the quick shot at another; all this had 
so unnerved the three boys, that they still trem- 
bled though the danger had passed. Orlo felt 
himself to be quite a hero, as well he might. For 
a boy of fourteen, his conduct was heroic. Old 
Renus was also a good deal upset, and not until 
the startling incident had been fully discussed, did 
any one think of breakfast. 

“ Wolves are the most ornery varmints ever 
created V the most dangerous,” said the old trap- 
per, when calmness was restored and breakfast 
cooking. “ ’N’ the pizin thing is they are so sly. 
A lynx or bobcat crouches when he spies ye V 
not one in a hundred ever jumps on a man, less 
he’s cornered. A b’ar runs away. ’N’ ye know 
’bout whar to find all on ’em. But a wolf’s wuss’n 
a ghost. Whar they go nobody knows or when 
they come either. All ye do know is that they 
dart like a shadder out o’ the woods. ’N’ they ain’t 
’fraid o’ no livin’ thing.” 

“But will they come tonight or ever again?” Jim 
asked anxiously. 


239 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“No tellin’; I can’t even guess,” Old Benus 
answered, shaking his head. “One thing I do 
know and that is, if they do come they’ll find our 
traps waitin’ ’n’ our front door bolted. Wolves 
can’t ketch me twice runnin’.” 

For a week, however, fear kept the four cast- 
aways almost prisoners. Old Benus and Orlo 
fetched water twice daily, and occasionally at mid- 
day, went to the trout pools, the old man always 
carrying the rifle. Each evening they listened for 
the now familiar howls. But none were heard. 
The ghostly brutes had vanished as mysteriously 
as they had appeared. 

The days were growing so much longer and 
warmer that they seemed almost springlike and 
they had no more intensely cold spells. The light 
snow that now fell soon melted. The brook out of 
the pond, full to its brim, kept up a cheerful chat- 
ter and seemed to promise a near escape from 
this grim, vast wilderness. The fear of wolves 
also slowly vanished, and while Old Benus never 
let the boys go after water alone and always car- 
ried his rifle the precautions were needless. He 
left the boys one day, to take a look at the lake 
bottom for an object ever in mind, but was aston- 
ished to find it an actual lake, shallow as it ap- 
peared from the many iced-over patches, but a 
vast expanse of white-capped water. 


240 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“ ’Twon’t run off Tore we leave, either,” he said, 
scanning it. “But I kin toiler the range ’long the 
west side. I still think thar’s a vein o’ coal thar 
hi’ Pve jest got to find it. I believe, too, there is 
real silver ore here, and Pve got to know Tore I 
go away.” 


CHAPTER XXII 

A LTHOUGH Old Reims had only the moon’s 
phases by which to determine the lapse of 
time, when the ice had all melted from in 
front of their cabin, he began his canoe building, 
using the old one as a model. It was a slow proc- 
ess, for only a few ribs at a time could be soaked 
in hot water to bend them into the requisite curve, 
and when so curled were held in shape by deerskin 
thongs. Those ribs also had to be graded into 
lengths equal to the beam of a twenty-foot canoe, 
and a few bow and stern ribs mortised into the 
short curved keels. By using the snares, he had 
enough wire to lash the double gunwales together, 
holding the ribs in position; and deerskin thongs 
with which to fasten the thwarts. With all the 
parts assembled and ready to be put together, it 
occurred to Old Renus, who in his time had built 
two birch canoes, that considering the load they 
must carry, fully a thousand pounds, his silk, bal- 
loon cover must be reinforced by bark, else the 


242 


CAME CASTAWAY 


least tap against a rock would stave a hole in the 
frail craft. Therefore, his next move was to hunt 
for a smooth, yellow birch to cut and peel. He had 
noticed a few suitable ones along the west side 
of the lake bottom and the next morning with 
the rifle and both axes they all set-out to find a 
tree large enough. Those he had in mind were 
beyond the shallow ravine where he found the 
seam of coal, and crossing that, Old Renus, al- 
ways on watch for everything, made an astonish- 
ing discovery. 

The winter’s intense cold had split the moss- 
coated rock away from the ledge, and a six-inch 
vein of coal lay exposed ! 

So astounded and overjoyed was the old woods- 
man that only his habitual caution and reserve 
kept him from shouting! 

His delight was reasonable, for before him lay 
the means to solve the riddle that had so long 
vexed him. A fabulous fortune or a heart rending 
disappointment. 

He made no sign, however, being a firmly-poised 
and self -controlled man, but merely glancing at the 
evidence of the marvelous power of intense cold to 
thus split away a rock of many tons in weight, he 
kept on to find his birch tree. He found it ; cut and 
peeled it, and they were all back to camp by noon. 
But so excited and anxious was Old Renus that he 


243 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


could no longer continue work on the canoe until 
he had solved the momentous problem. 

“We got to hev a lot o’ pitch to use in our 
double canoe/ ’he explained to the boys after din- 
ner, “ ’n’ I’m goin ’to leave ye to keep camp while 
I go after it. Ye kin unravel a lot o’ the balloon 
net. We got to make a long painter to tow the 
canoe, or to let it down the rapids.” And taking 
his rifle, and camp ax, he left camp hurriedly 
and within half an hour he was back at the coal 
seam. 

A bed of ice still lay along the south side of this 
ravine. The shallow lake shore had to be followed, 
going and returning. He knew his bed of blue clay 
was frozen hard, and that all he could do for weeks 
yet was to dig out coal, carry it to where he had set 
up his slate crucible, and later, when spring had 
unlocked his clay bed, steal away from the boys, 
and with the bellows he had made that winter while 
they were intent on checker playing, solve the 
riddle if possible. So he worked at the coal, and 
by supper time returned to camp with an ample 
supply of spruce gum. 

The boys were so keyed up with the canoe build- 
ing and the prospect of a near escape from the 
wilderness, they could scarcely sleep and Old 
Renus had to curb their spirits. “We got to be pa- 
tient, boys,” he said that evening. “We kin be 


244 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ready and start soon ez the ice is out o’ the lake o’ 
course, but ’tain’t best to. The woods ’ll be full o’ 
ice, ’n’ campin’ ’n’ sleepin’ on boughs is pretty 
i chilly. If we got to go north, we’re like to strike a 
froze-over lake ’n’ git hung up mebbe a week or 
two. So ’tain’t best to leave a warm camp too 
soon.” 

Old Renus was far more desirous of warm 
weather than the boys, though for quite another 
reason. He went about the canoe building the next 
morning, however, in his usual careful and thor- 
ough manner, first fitting his inner bark shell to the 
ribs up to what would be about the water line, and 
adding a double thickness of end sections. These 
were partially cemented together with plenty of 
melted pitch, until he had the outlines of a canoe 
half covered with stout bark. He next lashed thel 
thwarts in place; spread a coat of melted pitch 
over the bark shell, and finally laid his skeleton 
craft into a long section of the balloon to draw its 
edges up and hold them in place by the outer half 
of the double gunwale. This in turn he fastened 
to the inner one by a few tempered and clinched 
nails, and finally lashed it with fine wire. A few 
minor additions; end seats of deerskin; closed 
lockers under them; a long painter to use when 
needed, and the canoe was finished. Properly 
handled the canoe can be steered down wildly leap- 


245 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


in g rapids ; it will ride safely over huge waves, and 
yet it is the frailest and most graceful craft that 
floats. And this one, a hunting and Barlow knife 
creation, was the sole and only means of escape 
for these castaways, out of a vast and unknown 
wilderness. 

Only an Old Renus could have built it ! 

To the boys it seemed a marvel of wildwood 
beauty and they felt like dancing around it like 
happy Indians, and looked forward to the trip out 
as the most joyful excursion possible to take. To 
its builder, while he was satisfied with his hand- 
work, that trip was one fraught with countless 
dangers that would tax his every thought to avoid ; 
many hundred miles downstream with hidden rocks 
waiting to stave holes in his little bark ; with insidi- 
ous currents to catch him unawares and sweep 
them all to death in a leaping cataract. A blind 
journey, down a wild, rock-studded, unknown 
stream ! 

But it was their sole means of escape. 

By the time the canoe was given its final coat of 
pitch, and turned over, that the pitch might harden 
in the sun, the ice had all vanished from the open 
space around their pond. A rim of blue water en- 
closed its soggy ice cover. The brook above was a 
rushing, shouting stream, and a few days later, 
Old Renus excused himself from the boys one 


246 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


morning by a plea that be wanted to look round a 
little jest to see what be could see. 

He made a bee line for bis bed of blue clay up 
in tbe blowdown to dig out a goodly lump, and 
thence on to bis rude crucible in tbe ravine near 
where be bad started a coal pit. 

Here lay tbe little pile of bard coal be bad 
brought three weeks before, and which was tbe sole 
and only hope of solving tbe secret of bis black and 
gray ore. So momentous was this experiment, so 
much did it mean to him, that bis hands trembled 
as be began tbe work. He set up bis little slabs of 
slate, placed stones about them to bold them firmly 
in place; plastered tbe chinks with clay; laid a 
shallow bed of charcoal covered with bard coal 
inside ; put two pieces of tbe ore on this, and over 
them placed a slab of slate. He then started bis 
fire in tbe base of tbe soft coal, and half closing 
tbe open end of bis unique crucible, took up bis 
bellows. Within five minutes bis bard coal bad 
caught fire. Within ten, it was a glowing mass of 
red and blue flames. And now be knelt, and per- 
spiration started as be pumped tbe bellows as 
never a blacksmith did. 

The bard coal fire blazed blue and white ; a seeth- 
ing beat. Tbe two lumps of ore grew crimson, 
then white, and finally crumbled. 

And then, panting from frantic effort, Old Renus 


247 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


saw first, a tiny dark and next a white rill of 
molten silver run out over the bottom slab of 
slate ! 

He had solved his problem and found a fabulous 
fortune ! 

But so dazed was he, so benumbed by the won- 
der world of vast riches that were now his, that he 
stared down at the tiny rill of silver speechless, 
and scarcely conscious where he was. 

He had, in his time, watched from beside the 
highway of life, and seen what vast riches meant. 
He had seen the gold and silver kings who could 
not spend their incomes. He had seen their pal- 
aces, their yachts, their private trains, when they 
chose to travel; their army of servants and how 
even the law could be made subservient to their 
will. He had seen how cities and states honored 
them, how legislatures did their bidding and how 
even royalty unbent to them. 

And here, a half mile away and unknown to all 
but him, lay the same omniscient power. 

All his, his to do with as he willed ! 

Slowly a mental picture arose of Oakham and 
the future of the boys. He saw what they would 
ordinarily develop into there ; mere plodding 
farmers. He saw them as such, ploughing, plant- 
ing, hoeing and reaping, year in year out, and 
leading a simple, frugal life, to end under a low 


248 


CAMP. CASTAWAY 


white stone on the hillside. Another picture flashed 
on his brain, of them, dowered with this vast 
wealth ; and as he beheld the glittering future, he 
felt afraid for them. Perhaps after all he was 
only building ill. Planting riches that might yield 
sorrow. 

This feeling with its medley of unusual thoughts 
finally left him, and he was Old Renus once more. 
Then he pried the little patch of hard silver away 
from the slab of slate in front of the dying fire, 
put it in his pocket, kicked his crucible to pieces, 
picked up his bellows and returned to camp. 

Little did Orlo realize that evening, when they 
all sat around their little table — once the door of 
the old trapper’s cabin — why Old Renus watched 
him with such smiling wistfulness, or why at times, 
when the cheery fire lit up his deep set eyes, they 
seemed misty with unshed tears. 

But then Orlo was only a boy to whom life was 
yet an unknown realm. 

With morning came a new resolve, and that was 
to take Orlo into his full confidence concerning the 
fabulous mine, and the one supreme hope it had 
brought him. He knew that to secure both he must 
make proper registration, accompanied by a map 
and full description of the mine and location ; and 
the date of discovery, with names of witnesses if 
there were any. He could also buy as much of the 


17 


249 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


wild land surrounding it as he chose at govern- 
ment price ; have that duly recorded, and then the 
mine and land would become his to work, sell, or 
bequeath as he saw fit. But only he knew this now. 
His original plan, while waiting to test the one, 
had been to keep his secret until he returned to 
Oakham, then to transfer the deed to Orlo’s mother 
in trust for him, with a twenty percent, royalty 
to be paid Jim and Levi on all net returns from 
the mine. He meant to retain a managing interest 
in it for life ; to return, and hiring men and buying 
a few tools and a smelting outfit, transport them 
to Camp Castaway and begin developing the prop- 
erty. But all this well considered plan really 
hinged upon his own life. If by some accident on 
the way out, some upset in icy water; being swept 
over some cataract while running down an un- 
known stream, he should lose his life; why, his 
well-beloved boys would never receive any benefit. 
So far he had escaped the few dangers in these 
woods. But greater ones lay ahead, far more seri- 
ous than winter storms or wolves. Clearly Orlo 
must be informed, to doubly protect this all im- 
portant discovery. 

“I want to take another look around the lake 
bottom, Tore we start out, boys,” he said to them 
that morning. “You Jim, V Levi can go ’n’ tear 
down the two dams V let the trout out ’n’ Orlo 


250 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


can go with me. We won’t need any more fish now, 
I caPlate.” 

Orlo of course followed him dutifully on this ex- 
cursion, wondering why it was taken but saying 
nothing while they kept on around the lake bottom 
shore, until the deep and impressive gorge was 
entered. 

“Kin ye guess what that is, Orlo?” asked the 
old man, picking up a bit of black ore and handing 
it to him. 

“Why no, Uncle Renus, only it’s queer looking 
stone not like any other here,” he answered. 

“O’ course not, ’n’ nobody else kin ’thout he war 
a miner or knew what I found out yisterdey. This 
gorge is a split in this mountain hi’ most on’t below 
the trap rock is jest that same sort o’ soft black 
stun, I caPlate. It’s a wonderful find, I tell ye,” 
he added, smiling down into the boy’s surprised 
face. “One that’ll most knock ye over when I 
’splain it. Kin ye keep it a secret, hope to die if 
ye don’t? Keep it from Jim and Levi or anybody, 
so help ye?” 

“Of course I can, Uncle Renus,” Orlo answered 
earnestly. “I will do anything you wish. Why 
shouldn’t I?” 

“Wal, then come out o’ this to a sunny spot so 
I kin begin right. ’Tain’t but once in any man’s 
life he kin tell what I kin now.” 


251 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


He led tlie way out to a wind-sheltered, sun- 
warmed nook overlooking the white-capped lake, 
then sat down with Orlo close beside him. Orlo, 
feeling sure some wonderful story, some astound- 
ing secret was soon to be told, sat a little closer 
for that reason. “Pm ready, Uncle Renus,” he 
then said, smiling up at the wistful face turned to 
his. “Ready to be knocked over or struck dumb, 
Uncle Renus.” 

“Wal, then,” after a long pause, “in the fust 
place I’m going to tell you ’bout myself ’n’ a dream 
I once had. You’re old ’nuff to understand it, jest 
beginnin’ to feel a tech o’ the same sort, I know. 
I war born on Hardscrabble mountain north end 
o’ Goshen ’n’ north end o’ any chance in life, 
seein’ ez I got left an orphan at six ’n’ bound out 
to an old skinflint named Newell. ’Twas thin 
pickin,’ too, at meal time I tell ye, with this oak 
bark cuss. Rye bread ’n’ sorgum mainly ’n’ pork 
’n’ beans fer luxuries. My bed war corn husks 
with the butts on ’n’ I never had sheets. But work 
war plenty. Sixteen hours on’t a day in summer 
time, ’n’ eight winters ’fore ’n’ arter school ’n’ by 
lantern light mostly. I lived it through, how- 
somever, got my time at twenty-one ez the law 
said, ’n’ lit out fer Goshen ’n’ a chance to ’arn 
suthin’. 

“I war so green the tater bugs chased me ’n’ 


252 



“‘Kin ye guess what that is, Orto?’” 

















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1 




























• • 













CAMP CASTAWAY 


so ’fraid o’ gals Pd most run away from one. But 
I fell in love with one fer all o’ thet. One o’ the 
sweetest lookin’ angels in white I’d ever sot eyes 
on, I thought. ’N’ I got so crazy arter her I felt 
happy to hev her make faces at me. Likewise felt 
all the worry Pd had so fer war happiness. But 
she wan’t fer me or I fer her, I found out ’n’ so I 
went away. All that happened most forty years 
ago, but I’ve kept livin’ that one summer over ever 
since. It alius seems like the sound o’ far-off bells 
to me, or a new mown medder in the moonlight. 

“That’s the way with all on us,” he added, after 
a long meditative look at Orlo’s upraised face. “A 
dream we all hev sometime ’n’ while it lasts we 
think Heaven is jest ahead.” Then he paused, 
sighing faintly, and looked far over the sparkling 
lake a long moment while Orlo glanced up with 
a new wonderment. 

“I’ve been a rollin’ stone ever since,” he con- 
tinued after a while, “but I gathered jest ’nuff 
moss to hide my old carcass when my time comes. 
I’ve seen a good deal o’ this kintry, too, mountains, 
lakes, rivers, ’n’ mines, ’n’ worked at most every- 
thing to do it. ’N’ it war workin’ in mines ez pros- 
pector fer ore that made me fetch ye here, Orlo. 
’N’ now Pm goin’ to knock ye over, my boy.” 

Once more he paused while Orlo looked up, al- 
most gasping. 


253 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“You’ve seen the deep gorge back o’ us most 
half a mile long,” Renus continued, with an odd 
smile. “Seen the piles o’ black rock in it ; seen the 
sides o’ the same sort o’ stun. Wal, that black 
rock ’n’ most o’ this mountain, I cal’late, is silver 
lead ore ’n’ wuth more millions o’ dollars ’n’ 
you’ve got hairs on your head, Orlo. I know it 
’cause I smelted some yisterday. ’N’ it’s all mine 
as soon ez I git a deed on’t recorded when we go 
out.” 

A “good Lordy Lord,” came from Orlo, too as- 
tounded to say more. 

“ ’N’ what be I goin’ to do with it mebbe you’re 
thinkin’,” the old man continued, now stroking the 
boy’s head. “Wal, when I git a deed on’t I’m 
goin’ to sign it over to yer mother to keep in trust 
fer you till ye grow up big ’nuff to work it. O’ 
course Jim ’n’ Levi’s goin’ to hev their share, too. 
I’ll fix thet. Only you bein’ older, ’n’ I cal’late may 
turn out a leetle more keerful, had better be the 
head one. ’N’ that’s why I brought ye here ’n’ 
made ye promise not to tell Jim or Levi yit. Not 
a hint.” 

‘ ’N’ then ag’in, Orlo — you — wal, no matter why, 
you sorter ’mind me o’ somebody else I once knew 
in your looks ’n’ ways, ’n’ mebbe that’s ’nother rea- 
son fer feelin’ ez I do towards ye. It’s nothin’, jest 
a notion o’ mine. But it’s whims that sorter leads 


254 


CAMP CASTAWAY] 


us on through life, ’n’ mebbe yer face is my whim.’* 

The waves sparkled afar over that shallow, wil- 
derness-bordered lake. A low whisper of wind 
sighed through the dense spruce back of this man 
and boy. A kingfisher lit on a dead limb to watch 
the two below, one staring at the face above him, 
the other looking far away through the vista of 
whitened trees, faint and spectral over the glinting 
water. 

On the man’s face was the look of one gazing 
into the dim past of a lost youth. But the boy 
seemed looking into a new world. One far beyond 
his comprehension. 

“We’d better be startin’ back now, Orlo,” the 
man said finally, sighing once more and rising. 
“Jim ’n’ Levi ’ll wonder what’s keepin’ us.” 

But the boy answered not at all. He only clung 
to the man’s hand as they turned back. 

Of course such an astonishing revelation and 
promise quite upset Orlo, so much that he knew 
not whether he had lost his reason or Old Renus 
had. For six years now he had not only been mys- 
tified by this fine old woodsman, but had grown 
more fond of him ; to feel he was like a father to 
him. He had also so far failed to solve two rid- 
dles: he first wondered why Old Renus came to 
Oakham to live in such an old rookery when he 
was able to buy or build a more respectable home. 


255 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


And beyond that was a deeper mystery: why his 
mother, so careful always of his associates, had 
from the first been willing that he should fish and 
hunt with the old trapper. This mystery he could 
not even hint to him, of course, but it vexed him 
for all that. He was not the boy to cut a drum 
open to find what made the noise, however, but 
was satisfied to take Old Renus just as he came, 
and be more and more thankful for the joys he 
brought him. But this wonderful news of a fabu- 
lous fortune to be given him later on, so upset him, 
so threw him off his boyish poise, that he forgot 
where he was and what still lay ahead of them. 

And he had given his sacred promise not to 
even hint it to Jim and Levi ! 

Neither did he dare hint how astonished and 
mystified he was, for fear their questions and sus- 
picions might end in offending Old Renus. This 
was a weighty and momentous secret that was kin 
to a miracle. One to make him forget the dangers 
that lay ahead, the furs they had secured, the 
canoe voyage, soon to be undertaken, and his keen- 
ly anticipated home coming; even his mother’s joy 
over his safe return ! 

It was also a full day before he recovered even 
a little of his self-poise, or began to realize 
whether he was afoot or ahorseback. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

O LD RENUS had only one more duty to per- 
form, and that was to cut his name and 
address and a guessed-at date of the dis- 
covery of this silver mine upon two boards and 
nail them to trees well back in the canon. Also to 
draw a rude map of the mine and its location. 
Keen to the ways of claim jumpers, he made a 
copy of this charcoal map on birch bark, wrapped 
it in deerskin, and buried it at the mouth of the 
canon. 

He took Orlo along when he did so, that if he 
lost his life going out, the boy’s heritage might be 
found and claimed by him. “It’s only guardin’ 
’gainst what might happen,” he told Orlo. “I mean 
to git out alive, o’ course, ’n’ take a lot more com- 
fort. But then I mightn’t, ’n’ ’twas to protect you 
boys I told ye what I did yisterday. ’N’ then 
ag’in some trappers who knew what silver ore was, 
might blunder into that gorge. O’ course it’s only 
one chance in a million, but I’m cal’latin’ to head 


257 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


that one off. I mean to get out o’ the woods, too, 
jest ez fast as we kin now, so as to git this mine 
matter all secure. Such a find ez that needs lookin’ 
after quick. I only hope we won’t hev to go out 
by way o’ Hudson Bay, for if we do it won’t be no 
joke.” 

He was in no hurry to start on that “joke” 
either, but wisely waited until the last ice had van- 
ished from the big lake, when he began to pack 
and get ready for the long canoe trip. 

“We got to leave everything we can do without, 
boys,” he said to them. “The small pelts, lynx ’n’ 
bobcat skins, tent ’n’ silk bags with a few cookin’ 
dishes we’ll take, o’ course. Some b’ar meat, too, 
’n’ we’ll bake a bag full o’ hard biscuit, ’n’ take all 
our coffee. But even so much’ll mean two trips 
’round any carry.” 

Leaving so many of their household belongings 
seemed like a personal loss to the boys, especially 
the traps, bear and wolf skins ; but they were grow- 
ing woodwise now and were beginning to under- 
stand what a long water journey would mean. 

The uneaten meats to be left were all added 
to the pile of wolf bones, near the ledge. The 
cabin was swept out and put in order, the old canoe 
carried inside of the barricade, and as a final touch 
of breaking up housekeeping, Old Renus carved 
the name “Camp Castaway” on a strip of pine and 


258 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


nailed it above the cabin door. And then came the 
leave-taking. 

To the boys who had been dropped into this 
primeval forest nine months before, frightened 
and helpless, this rude stone cabin had become an 
almost “Home, Sweet Home.” In it they had lived 
warm and secure from deep snow, bitter cold, dan- 
gerous lynx and fierce wolves. Here they had 
learned many lessons not taught in schools : self- 
reliance, resolution and the fact that modern lux- 
uries are not necessary to health and happiness. 
And they had realized a deeper truth ; that an ec- 
centric old nondescript, a so-called vagabond, 
might yet possess enough forethought and kind- 
ness of soul to be as a father to them. At first 
he had appealed to them only as a romantic old 
hunter and trapper, but now they knew him as a 
broad-minded, kind-hearted and unselfish man. 
For these reasons, for what Old Renus and this 
wilderness home had been to them, all three of the 
boys, when they turned for a final look at Camp 
Castaway, saw it through tears. 

But Old Renus felt that he was only leaving it 
for a few months, and was sure of his ability to 
make his well-beloved boys rich for life. 

He was almost buoyantly happy when they 
pushed their well-laden canoe into the lake that 
bright May morning, not five rods from where they 


259 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


first landed. A few bluebirds added a musical 
send-off. Two deer, not far away, watched them 
curiously. A warm south wind rippled the blue 
water, and even his fear that they were starting 
for Hudson Bay was not enough to discourage 
him now. 

The two lakes were soon crossed, with all four 
paddling, the long shadowy reach to the first carry 
as well, and by noon the two portages were made, 
a hasty meal cooked and eaten, and at sunset that 
day Old Renus pulled the canoe out in front of the 
willow thicket where he had watched the two 
wolves, and camp was made. 

From here on it was an unknown stream to him, 
and progress was slower for the reason that two 
unseen dangers lay ahead: hidden rocks in the 
stream, and an insidious current above a danger- 
ous rapid or leaping falls to catch and sweep them 
down to destruction. The stream was broader 
now, and the trend of the mountains was still to 
the north. The usual variations of a canoe jour- 
ney came in due order that second day. Wide 
swamps, now alive with wild ducks, miles of slow 
running stream shadowed by a primeval growth 
of spruce and larch, lakelets that opened out of the 
forest like broad smiles of rippled water, and 
carries that taxed the boys’ strength and patience 
to the utmost. The one disconcerting feature, 


260 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


however, was that the trend of the stream and lay 
of the mountains continued to the northward. Old 
Renus, anxiously watching both of these signs, 
kept hoping that each day, each hour down the 
broader stream would see a change in its direc- 
tion and flow to a more southerly one. There were 
other signs equally disconcerting. The first and 
most ominous was that after two more days’ jour- 
ney on a rapidly flowing current, having made 
fully one hundred miles, no signs of lumbermen’s 
mark had yet been passed. Not a bit of driftwood 
showed the mark of an ax. There was not a gap 
in the primal wilderness ; no signs of a “tote road.” 
The animals and birds were tame, as at Camp 
Castaway. Deer that were seen near the stream 
only stared at them calmly. A lordly bull moose 
surprised upon a bush-covered point, stood stock 
still as their canoe swept round it, his only move 
being to shake his antlered head and turn to watch 
them out of sight. Once a bobcat was spied crouch- 
ing flat upon a tree bending over the stream, but 
he only glared down at them with fierce, yellow 
eyes. The many pairs of ducks swimming around 
in the swamp-bordered open spaces did not even 
quack their surprise or fly, and all this proved 
to Old Renus that human visitors to this vast 
wilderness had been few and very far between. 
Only two human trails had they ever found, one 


261 


CAME CASTAWAY 


being that of tbe dead trapper. Old Benus began 
to watch anxiously for others when each carry was 
reached, as he had for signs of a lumberman's visit, 
with the hope that later trails might be seen. That 
first one, faint and dim, hid in that dismal, swampy 
spot, began to seem pathetic as well as ominous, 
and as he recalled that trapper's grinning skull, 
it was horribly suggestive of what might overtake 
them in this pathless forest. 

At mid-afternoon the next day, the fifth, they 
entered a narrow defile through a low mountain. 
Here the stream, scarce a rod wide, was almost 
currentless, but black and somber in the shadow, 
while from far ahead came the muffled roar of a 
cataract. 

“Looks kinder skeery to me, boys,” Old Benus 
declared, glancing at the rock wall on either hand. 
“Kinder like slidin' into a trap. 'N' I don't like 
that rumblin' ahead. Sounds like high falls. If 
this gorge don't open out 'fore we come to quick 
water, we'll hev to turn back. We'd be helpless 
if we got caught by the broken water.” 

It soon grew shadowy in this narrow defile and 
Old Benus, watching ahead and listening to the 
low rumbling, scarcely noticed the current that 
bore them on until the canon opened out wider, 
and then he saw the bordering walls apparently 
sliding backward at a dangerous speed. One in- 


262 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


stant he glanced at them, then on ahead to 
notice a few stunted cedars growing out from a 
low ledge and to catch the louder roar beyond 
them. Then, and with a sudden chill of fear, he 
realized their situation. 

They were caught in a flume-like current, be- 
tween high walls, with a cataract just ahead ! 

“Turn ’round quick, Orlo, ’n’ paddle backward !” 
he shouted, then wheeled, himself, in an instant. 
Deep into that black, swift water he sunk his pad- 
dle with vigorous strokes, tossing water backward 
in a shower. Inch by inch, the canoe, quivering 
between his fierce strokes and the swift current, 
moved backward. Now as Orlo also caught the 
dread situation and added vigor to his strokes, 
the gain grew. Inches at first, then a foot, then a 
rod ! A battle between that onward current, sweep- 
ing them towards a roaring cataract and death, 
and human strength ! Sweat started from the face 
of Old Renus, now kneeling and fighting with 
gritted teeth that merciless suction of water. Orlo, 
equally scared, threw every ounce of his young 
strength into the fight, while Jim and Levi, help- 
less, sat with beating hearts gripping the canoe 
rails. 

Then, just as the margin of safety was reached, 
the paddle Old Renus was fighting for life with, 
snapped in two ! 


2 63 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Two more paddles lay under the bundles back 
of him. He turned instantly to grab one. The 
canoe slid backwards twice the distance they had 
made, and when once more he struck the seething 
current, no paddle could hold it ! 

“My God!” he exclaimed, whirling about once 
more, “we’re goners !” 

To catch and hold onto those stunted cedars 
below was now their only hope ! 

“Stop paddlin’ ’n’ turn quick, Orlo !” Old Renus 
shouted. “I’m goin’ to ketch hold o’ one o’ them 
cedars, but don’t you till I tell ye,” and he thrust 
his paddle in to steer. 

With quick thought he now chose the middle 
and largest of the three trees as the best to grasp. 
It was not bigger than his wrist, but he knew its 
roots ran into sod-covered cracks in the narrow 
ledge wall. Would it hold the on-sweep of their 
heavy-laden craft or not? On that their lives de- 
pended now! 

Nearer and nearer the whitening water swept 
the canoe. 

Louder and louder came the menacing roar 
ahead. 

A mist rose above that bellowing cataract. 

Then, with teeth shut hard, Old Renus gave one 
last in-swing to the canoe, tossed his paddle 
aboard, and grasped that frail cedar stem. 


264 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


It held! 

“Git out quick now, you ’n’ Jim,” he next or- 
dered. “ ’ISP you, Orlo, hand out things fast ez ye 
kin to lighten the canoe.” 

It was speedily done ; then grasping the painter 
with one hand, Old Renus climbed onto that nar- 
row shelf. 

“Thank God!” he said, drawing a long breath. 
“It was a close call !” 

He then pulled the light, swinging craft half out 
of the seething current. They stood on a shelf of 
rock, three feet wide by four rods long, sod-cov- 
ered and grass-grown. 

But their lives were saved ! 

Old Renus smiled. 

“Pve been a dum fool many times, boys,” he said, 
“but never any more double dum fool ’n’ when I 
ran into this split mountain. ’N’ ’twar only the 
Lord’s help that saved us !” 

But what a fix they were in ! 

Back of them the jagged rock wall sloped up- 
ward fully twenty feet to a crowning thicket of 
scrub spruce. Below, the sheer face wall met the 
current. 

“Kin ye climb it, Orlof’ Old Renus asked, peer- 
ing above them. 

“I got to,” the boy answered resolutely. 

“Wal, pile the things lower down,” Old Renus 


18 


265 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

directed calmly, “so I kin pull the canoe out. Then 
we’ll see.” 

It appeared almost impossible even to this re- 
sourceful old woodsman, for only a few slightly 
jutting rocks appeared in the smooth wall well up 
toward the top, and above them but one narrow 
crack. 

For a long moment Old Renus studied the sit- 
uation, then with a “We kin do it, boys,” picked up 
the extra long painter they had braided from their 
balloon tethering rope. “Now, boys,” he con- 
tinued, “all on ye take off moccasins ’n’ socks. You, 
Levi, tie one end o’ this painter ’round your waist. 
It’s got to be a case o’ Jacob’s ladder, ’n’ I’m your 
Jacob. Orlo stands on my shoulders, Jim climbs 
onto his, ’n’ you’re the top monkey. But keep your 
heads, all o’ ye.” 

The human ladder was thus built, fortunately 
a leaning one, and Levi, quite elated at the hon- 
or, eagerly scrambled onto the spruce-covered 
top. 

The camp ax was then sent up to him to cut 
and clear away an open space. Various bags and 
bundles followed, and when the paddles and rifle 
were drawn up, one end of the long painter was 
made fast to the canoe, the other to a stout scrub 
spruce by Levi, then Orlo and Jim in turn soon 
climbed this. Old Renus next lifted on the canoe, 


266 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


while the three boys pulled it up with the rope. 
But now came a less easy stunt for him. 

“Tie knots in the rope ’bout a foot apart,” he 
called to Orlo, and when this was done, he soon 
joined the boys. 

“More’n one way to skin a cat, eh, boys?” he 
declared, looking around him. A long and narrow 
lake lay below them, with openings at either end. 
“But it’s goin’ to be some fuss to cut a hole through 
this tangle below us,” he meditated. 

“We’re goin’ to solve the riddle o’ war, we be, 
tomorrer,” he added a moment later, as if the al- 
most fatal episode just passed was forgotten. 
“ ’N’ if, as it looks, this lake hez two outlets, it’s a 
partin’ o’ the ways fer us.” 

“I don’t worry much about where we are, Uncle 
Renus,” Orlo put in. “Or anything else either, 
after what we just went through. We’d be dead 
now if it hadn’t been for you.” 

“We sartin would, my boy,” he said, smiling. 
“ ’N’ that’s why I war such a double dum fool to 
’a’ so got caught. But fergit it now it’s all over,” 
for that was Old Renus and his philosophy. 

Only a moment longer he waited to glance down 
at the rainbow tints glinting in the mist above the 
cataract. Two processions of white foam flecks 
were floating slowly north and south across the 
placid lake below ; the sun was almost down to the 


267 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


green ridge just west of them; and two deer were 
feeding on the lake shore. Seizing the camp ax, 
Old Eenus began cutting a path down through the 
tangle. 

This took a full hour ; the canoe was next shoul- 
dered by Orlo and himself ; and, just as the sun 
vanished below the ridge, they launched their craft 
and paddled hurriedly across to an out- jutting 
rock on the opposite shore. There was an ideal 
camp site beside it, that was soon cleared of scrub 
spruce; the tent was set up, a fire started, and 
supper was soon cooking. 

They had so far camped five times since leaving 
their winter home, most of those halts being along- 
side the stream, but none had the wildwood charm 
of this one with the snow-white cataract just 
across and broad patches of foam drifting slowly 
away from it to right and left. An hour later 
when the darkness had shut them in, the fire fresh- 
ened, and Old Renus, puffing his cob pipe, lay be- 
side it, an ethereal touch was added ; for now the 
moon slowly rose above the low mountain facing 
them. The cataract began to flash silver glints. 
The foam patches in unending procession gleamed 
snow-white as they crossed the moon’s shining 
path, and to the steady rumble of the falls was 
added the low tinkle of running water at the lake 
outlet close by. Probably the charm of that scene 


268 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


was enhanced by the sense of their present safety 
after the danger they had just passed through. 

“Kinder consolin’ to feel safe once more, ain’t 
it, boys ?” Old Renus commented. 

“I’ve had clus calls, a good many on ’em, in all 
my wanderings,” he continued, after refilling and 
lighting his pipe. “Once on the plains, with a half- 
dozen others on mustangs, a band o’ Piute Injuns 
chased us all one forenoon till we come to a round 
hill, then we halted to pick ’em off one by one or 
drop their ponies as they circled, round us, shoot- 
in’. It war kill or git killed then ’n’ two o’ the pros- 
pectors with me bit the dust as it war. Once I war 
cornered by a Grizzly with only a six-shooter in my 
belt. I plugged away five shots ’n’ only the last 
one fetched him. ’Nother time I got swamped in 
a rapid, losin’ my pack, rifle, matches, canoe ’n’ 
everything, ’n’ tramped five days to git out. ’N’ 
all I had to keep alive with war a knife. But all 
o’ them scrapes wan’t quite equal to the minute we 
war headin’ fer that cedar bush.” 

In the morning, Old Renus duly considered their 
next step. If two outlets of the lake joined again 
and ran south or even west it would be fortunate. 
If not, and both kept on to join some larger stream 
many miles away, then it would become a question 
of which was the easier to follow. In either case 
a long carry must be made. 


269 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“We’ll load up,” he directed after breakfast, 
“ ’n’ take time ’n’ look both outlets over. We hev 
got to find those trappers’ trails now.” 

This was imperative ; so he launched the canoe 
and paddled to the south outlet, where he landed, 
and followed by the eager boys, looked carefully 
down along the right bank for some fifty rods. 

But no signs of any trapper was found. 

The left bank was then examined with no better 
results. There were many marshy spots, in which 
footprints would remain for years, but none were 
discovered. 

“Looks like nobody ever come down this stream,” 
Old Renus declared, pushing the canoe off. “We’ll 
try the other one.” Here they met with better luck, 
for a few rods below the drift-choked outlet, and 
leaning against a boulder, were a dozen alder poles 
and upon them a mat of dry, bare spruce boughs. 
One end of this rude shelter was half thatched in 
the same way, while in front of the other end, and 
almost hidden under a mat of dead ferns, lay the 
charred ends of firewood. 

“Them trappers camped here, sure’s a gun,” 
Old Renus declared excitedly ; then, after carefully 
poking the dead ferns away from the black embers, 
added: “’N’ it war only a year ago this spring, 
so it’s the two whose tracks we saw up back. 
Here’s whar they cut poles f er the lean-to,” he con- 


270 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


tinned, pointing to some stumps nearer the stream, 
then he pushed on to a marshy spot in the alders 
where sunken tracks were plainly seen. 

“They carried by on this side, too,” he added, 
after listening a moment. “ ’N’ it’s a long one by 
the far sound ’o runnin’ water.” Returning to the 
canoe he sat on its bow and looked around. First 
at the low mountain and out-leaping cataract ; next 
at the valley opening to the south, then down the 
one below them. 

“Boys, Pm stumped,” he said finally. “ ’N’ I 
don’t know which way to go. Both o’ these out- 
lets look to hev long carries. By the sound ’n’ 
lay o’ the land it may be a mile or more. Then 
they may come together a spell on. If they don’t 
it’s the south one I think we’d best foller in spite 
o’ what I fust thought ’n’ said. Now I cal’late we’d 
best go back to that ’n’ I’ll push on down a mile 
or so while you boys wait.” 

“I may be gone an hour or two,” he explained, 
after the lake was crossed once more and canoe 
drawn out. “But you boys kin rig up poles, and 
an anchor fer the canoe, ’n’ ketch a few minnows 
in some pool below here ’n’ we kin hev fried trout 
fer dinner. If ye stay out in the canoe no prowlers 
kin scare ye. They won’t be likely to come ’round 
anyway. ’Taint the season to be worried ’bout 
’em now.” With this final thought for the security 


271 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


of his well beloved boys, he dove into the dense 
undergrowth alongside the stream and vanished. 

For the first time since they stepped out of the 
collapsed balloon’s wicker-basket, the three boys 
were alone in this vast wilderness. 

They scarcely noticed it at first, but boy-like, 
made haste to rig poles, catch minnows and with 
bits of dry alder sticks for corks, were soon 
anchored out in the lake waiting for bites. They 
came in a-plenty, and within an hour, a dozen 
good sized trout had been yanked into the canoe 
and the bait exhausted. 

“Let’s go ashore and get ready to cook dinner,” 
Orlo proposed. “Old Renus must be back soon 
and I am getting hungry.” This was done, and 
while Levi dressed the trout Orlo and Jim gathered 
dry limbs for fuel. Then they all sat down to wait. 
And waiting soon made them nervous. The sol- 
emn vastness of the wilderness became oppressive. 
The steady roar of the falls across the lake 
sounded louder. A crow on a dead treetop cawed 
ominously; two more up back on the ridge added 
the raucous cries they knew meant anger. Per- 
haps it was caused by a bobcat devouring their 
young? Other sounds from within the dark forest 
became magnified as they listened; a catbird’s 
call became the snarl of a bobcat; the bark of 
a gray squirrel grew to the growl of a lynx; 


272 


CAMP. CASTAWAY 


while the noise of ground squirrels running 
among dry leaves became the scamper of 
wolves. 

Why had not Old Renus returned. 

Orlo looked at his watch to figure out how long 
their sole protector had been away. Fully three 
hours was as near as he could guess, and Renus 
had said, “an hour or two.” 

It was almost one o’clock! 

“I can’t understand why Uncle Renus don’t get 
back,” he declared. 

“I wish he would,” Jim answered. “I am most 
starved.” 

“And it must be past noon,” Levi added. “He 
ought to be back now.” 

“It’s past one o’clock,” Orlo said, “and he’s been 
gone most four hours.” 

“But what be we goin’ to do about dinner !” 
asked Jim. 

“Well, I ain’t worrying about that,” the older 
boy returned. “I am afraid something’s happened 
to him.” 

“Oh Lord,” exclaimed Levi, the most helpless of 
the trio. “What’ll we do if there has!” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know!” cried Orlo, 
now giving full expression to the dread fear fast 
coming upon him. “But we mustn’t get fright- 
ened,” he added, glancing into the two scared faces 


273 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


watching him. “And I think we’d better go and 
meet him.” 

The fright of the two boys suddenly calmed Orlo 
and he felt that he must take the lead and think 
and act like a man. He had thought a good deal 
about the wonderful news Renus had told him, not 
only about the fabulous mine and his intentions, 
but the more pathetic story of the old man’s heart 
history. He began to feel what his mother must 
have suffered in his absence, the tears she must 
have shed, and how nearly dependent she was on 
his young life, and now brought face to face with 
this new danger, with the one they all owed their 
lives to, possibly lost or crippled he was lifted in 
an instant from a care-free boy to a man, ready to 
do a man’s duty. 

“Jim and I must go at once,” he ordered. “And 
you, Levi, must stay here and watch things. Some 
bear or bobcat might come and eat up all we got.” 

“Oh, I won’t, no way,” Levi answered, beginning 
to tremble at this dire situation. “Some bear or 
lynx might eat me up !” 

“If you’re goin’ to be ’fraid cat,” Orlo said, with 
a shade of contempt, “why, climb a tree and stay 
there or sit out in the canoe. Come now, don’t be a 
baby. You know the last thing Uncle Renus said 
was, we needn’t be afraid of wild animals, and he 
knows.” 


274 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“We must cook and eat a bite,” he added, hur- 
riedly starting a fire. “Jim and I may have to 
carry Uncle Renus back, for he may have broken 
his leg. I know something must have happened 
or he’d be back by this time.” 

They prepared a meal hastily. A slice of fried 
meat and two dry biscuit were each one’s portion. 
Then Orlo commenced reloading the canoe so that 
poor, scared Levi might sit safe in it a few rods 
from shore, and thus protect their almost priceless 
stock of food. Orlo kept their gun, however, and 
after seeing Levi anchored out of danger, reso- 
lutely led the way down the stream. 

It ran on, leaping and cascading over ledges, 
sweeping around big boulders and was hard to fol- 
low on account of high rocky banks. He did not 
watch for the tracks of Old Renus, but pushed on 
as fast as possible. Now and then the old man’s 
trail was seen in some soft spot, or where he had 
climbed a ledge. Once or twice Orlo would halloo, 
but no answer came save the steady rumble of the 
stream below. Now and then the stream would 
pitch into some cavernous pool, shadowy and dark, 
then emerge to spread over a broad, moss-coated 
ledge. For fully two miles the anxious boys 
pushed on, growing more and more worried, but 
not conscious of the lapse of time. One thing that 
did impress them was the risk they took in follow- 


275 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


in g sncli a wild stream through narrow defiles and 
over rocks, moss-coated and slippery. They had 
to crawl backward down the rocks now and then 
and ford the stream at times knee-deep, and once 
they spied a wildcat lying flat upon an overhang- 
ing tree trunk. But still they kept on almost des- 
perate, for Renus must be found. 

“Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do,” Orlo finally 
exclaimed, as they halted to rest just after coming 
upon the trail of Old Renus across a spit of sand. 
“And why he came so far down this way I can’t 
understand.” 

“He must ’a’ had some reason,” Jim answered, 
stooping to examine the fresh track carefully, “and 
I think we must be most up to him.” 

“Oh, no, not a bit of it,” contradicted the wise 
Orlo. “He had all of three hours start of us. What 
I can’t see is why he didn’t turn back long ago. 
Let’s go up the bank and I’ll climb a tree to look 
ahead.” He did this at once, and made two dis- 
coveries, one of a fearsome nature. 

The sun was nearly down to the treetops ! 

“Do you know what time it is, Jim? it is most 
sundown,” he asserted anxiously, when on the 
ground once more. “And,” yanking his watch out, 
“it’s half -past five. And the stream turns sharp 
north just below here,” he added ; and two pairs of 
eyes met in consternation. 


276 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“But what we goin , to do!” Jim queried, after 
the long stare. 

“I dunno what to do,” Orlo answered. “We 
got to find Uncle Renus somehow.” 

“But we can’t go on after dark ! And what good 
is it if the stream does go north below here? That 
won’t help us any.” 

“No ; only it may be a reason why he come down 
so far. He said the two streams might come to- 
gether below the lake.” 

“We got to go back now, I guess,” he added, 
after another long inquiring look at Jim. 

“And hurry, too,” that boy cautioned. “It’s all 
the way up-hill and it’ll be dark by the time we 
get back.” 

It was nearly so by the time they once more 
heard the rumble of the cataract across the 
lake. A loud hallo from Orlo the moment he 
spied the canoe out in the lake brought an 
answering one from Levi, who never before had 
been in such a pitiful state of abject fear. In 
fact, he had been actually crying for almost two 
hours. 

They were all badly frightened, for Old Renus 
was evidently lost or crippled somewhere far away 
in this pathless wilderness. The darkness was so 
dense they could scarcely see the canoe. The roar 
of the cataract across the lake was louder than 


277 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


an angry bull, and they felt that without Old Renus 
their situation was hopeless. 

Just then and as if to accentuate it all, from the 
woods close by, came the snarling yaoul of a lynx. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I T WAS fortunate for all the boys that Old 
Renus had taken Orlo into his confidence be- 
fore leaving Camp Castaway, for now the 
I-must-be-a-man spirit gave him added courage, 
and the moment he heard that yaoul close by he 
lowered the rifle and cocked it ready to shoot. 

“Here Jim, come git a fire started quick as you 
can,” he shouted. “And you, too, Levi. Stop your 
whimpering and get some dry brush, cones, any- 
thing to burn. That will keep the lynx away. If 
you don’t he’ll be onto us in no time.” 

And thus spurred poor scared Levi did “get 
busy.” 

“We’ve got to take care of ourselves now,” Orlo 
asserted almost pathetically, after the fire was well 
blazing. “And we’ve got to find Uncle Renus to- 
morrow. It’s awful to think that he is in the 
woods with maybe a broken leg, and suffering. He 
will expect us to find him also, and we must. We 
won’t ever get out of here if we don’t.” 


279 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


They unloaded the canoe, carrying all their eat- 
ables to pile in the tent ; then Orlo cooked a frugal 
meal of fried meat and coffee. 

Once more the moon appeared to smile across 
the lake. The cataract was still roaring ; the foam 
patches crossed the moon’s silvered path, the brook 
sang as before, but the evening’s charm was lost 
on the scared boys. All their thought was of their 
old hero, and what could have happened to him. 
They kept the fire blazing, for that seemed their 
only friend now. They sat about it until nearly 
midnight, then crept into the tent. 

They were all awake at daylight to start the fire 
anew, wash in the lake, and cook a breakfast of 
fried trout. Some bear ham was also fried to take 
along on the hunt for Old Renus, and finally, Orlo, 
yielding to the pleading of Levi not to be left alone 
again, decided to pack their eatables in the canoe 
and moor it in the center of the shallow stream, 
leaving the lake. For the trip, he selected two of 
the silk blankets, an ax, a few slices of bear ham, 
the extra long painter, and as a final thought a 
frying pan and fish line. These were made into 
two packs, Jim and Orlo carrying one each lashed 
on their backs. Levi carried the rifle and by sun- 
up they started down stream again, anxious to find 
Old Renus. 

It had taken them three hours the day before 


280 


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to descend to the point where they had turned 
back and now they reached it in half that time. 
Here they halted long enough for Orlo to climb 
the tree and hallo a few times; then they pushed 
on. The way soon became easier, the cliff banks 
dwindled and the stream ran slowly through an al- 
most level stretch of woods. Here the trail of 
Old Eenus was distinct on the right bank. A half 
mile of this was soon covered, for but little brush 
grew beneath the giant spruce trees ; suddenly an 
opening was seen ahead, and also a broader stream 
which was soon joined by the one they had fol- 
lowed. 

But a greater surprise was in store, for on halt- 
ing to take breath, they saw not two rods away 
on top of a low ledge the poles and dry brush of an 
old lean-to ! 

Lower down in the soft moss and spruce needles 
were well-defined footprints with the later ones 
of Old Eenus, all leading up beside the broader 
stream. 

“Well, I guessed right didn’t I, Jim,” said Orlo, 
with a share of elation. “I said yesterday after I 
climbed the tree there was another stream here 
and this is it. And it’s the other outlet of the lake. 
Uncle Eenus said there might be and he was right. 
We shall find him somewhere between here and 
the lake, maybe — he had to stay in the woods last 


19 


281 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


night and he’ll come back to where we camped. 
I wish we’d left Levi there.” 

“I don’t,” Levi snapped back, “I wouldn’t ’a’ 
stayed there alone for a million dollars. I had 
enough of it yesterday.” 

From here it was easy to follow the plain trail 
of Old Eenus, for the slow stream twisted and 
turned amid giant spruce and hemlock with no 
brush. They trod upon a thick carpet of moss and 
needles. The sun high overhead sent rifts of light 
down through the green canopy, adding a mystic 
charm. Long tufts of “whisker” moss depended 
from low branches in spectral array, making a 
unique stretch of forest unlike anything so far seen 
by the boys. It ended at the border of a swamp 
morass into which they saw the stream vanish, and 
then, still following the trail, they were forced to 
keep to the right. Miles of this swamp border was 
thus followed amid thick undergrowth and briars, 
until suddenly, after a detour around an outbend 
of this morass, they missed the trail of Old Renus. 
To go back and find it, was imperative ; and when 
they started, they were still more confused by find- 
ing two trails mingling with their own smaller 
footsteps; and to add to this perplexity, they lost 
their sense of direction. Orlo said the stream they 
had left lay west, Jim was sure that it lay due 
north, while Levi had no idea at all. 


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CAMP CASTAWAY 


“We are in a fix,” Orlo declared dubiously. “But 
we’ve got to stick to the tracks of Uncle Renus or 
we are lost.” Then as stories of what that meant 
occurred to him he grew nervous. 

“There is one thing certain,” he finally said, 
“and that is, if Uncle Renus turned back he had a 
reason. If we keep his tracks between us and the 
swamp we must find where he turned away from 
it.” Then, recalling that the old man had once told 
him that the branches on the south side of trees 
were always the longest, he began to examine 
them. 

“I was right,” he declared, after a dozen had 
been inspected. “The swamp is due north of us.” 
To verify that he next climbed an open spruce, 
then came down quite elated. “There’s a small 
lake north of us,” he added, “and higher land east. 
If we go that way we must come to our lake in 
time, or if we turn north then we’ll come to the 
other outlet of it, sure.” 

This conclusion further perplexed them, for if 
Old Renus had not gone back to the lake, he must 
have kept on to find and follow the north outlet 
stream to it. 

“I guess we best keep east,” Orlo finally decided, 
and this they did for a quarter of a mile, and upon 
reaching the high ground and big trees met a glad 
surprise in a fresh trail of Old Renus. 


283 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


It was leading due north ! 

The tired and worried boys were faint from 
hunger and it was almost one o’clock, so a halt was 
made beside a small brook, a fire was started and 
a frugal meal cooked and eaten. Then they went 
on. 

But the trail of the lost man was not easily pur- 
sued on thisdiarder soil. The boys dared not lose 
it again and so progress was slow. The sun kept 
sinking and the inevitable conclusion was reached ; 
that they must pass the night in the woods. Their 
first night alone had been serious enough ; to Orlo 
it had been one of fitful sleep, dreams of yellow- 
eyed prowlers, and of finding the dead body of Old 
Renus. But when he woke he realized they still 
had the canoe with plenty of food for a week or 
two. But now, with scanty food, and without their 
protector another night in the woods meant greater 
misery. 

He led the way onward, however, not daring to 
say what he felt, but he watched the lowering sun 
with increasing dread. He hoped to find some 
opening in the grim wilderness to rig up a shelter 
in, and near a brook for his tongue was parched 
with thirst. But no sign of one came until the sun 
was close to the treetops, and then the welcome 
tinkle of running water was heard just ahead. So 
cheering did it sound that Orlo sprang onward, 


284 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


halting on the edge of a deep gully through which 
a small stream chattered over bare, brown rocks, 
full twenty feet below. He stood one moment on 
the brink to see where he could get down ; the next 
second the bank began to give away, he grasped a 
bush to save himself and the next thing he knew 
he had shot downward sideways, bush, sod and all, 
landing among the stones, bruised but unhurt ; and 
as the other boys came up to halt on the gully’s 
edge, Orlo saw that another cave-in had broken 
away the undermined bank just below him. He 
hastened to it with a faint hope, and there, sure 
enough, amid the fresh earth beside the rill was a 
plainly defined heel mark. It had been made by 
Old Renus of course, for his trail had been seen 
not five rods back. It gladdened Orlo in spite of 
his sore spots, for so fresh was the sign, the old 
hero must have been here within a few hours. 

“He tumbled in same as I did,” Orlo assured the 
other two. “That overhanging bank is a regular 
trap.” He looked around to see where Old Renus 
had climbed out of the gully, and found not ten 
feet away, a tuft of brook-moss, blood-red ! 

It was surely blood Orlo saw as he picked up 
the moss. Big drops of blood also lay upon dry 
stones at the foot of the opposite bank; quite an 
ominous sign. 

“He must ’a’ got hurt when he fell,” Orlo assert- 


285 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ed. “Here’s more of it,” lie added, crossing to 
where some one had sat down on a tuft of sedge 
grass. “My, but he must ’a’ bled a lot.” 

“Looks so,” corroborated Jim, hastening up a 
few rods to the opposite bank. “Here’s where he 
climbed out,” he added, then a sharp, “come here” 
from him brought the other two excited boys who 
looked with wonder at a spot where two white 
birches had been hacked down with a knife, the 
top ends, two inches thick, cut off and fresh-leaved 
branches were strewn all about. 

What did it all mean? 

“It looks mighty queer to me,” said Orlo, looking 
at Jim. 

“I can’t understand it,” Jim answered, shak- 
ing his head. “Looks like he cut two clubs for 
something.” 

“Maybe he found a lynx was chasing him,” Levi 
suggested, with an active appreciation of that 
danger. 

Suddenly Orlo looked down the open rift. “Oh, 
Lordy, it’s getting dark,” he exclaimed. “We’ve 
got to rig up some shelter right away, and here 
too,” he added, glancing around. “ We can’t waste 
time hunting for a spot. It’ll be pitch dark ’fore 
we know it.” 

They chopped down and trimmed a dozen of the 
useful white birch trees, lashed their tops together 


286 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


wigwam fashion, and covered them with sprnce 
boughs. Levi, instructed by Orlo, started a fire, 
and by the time they had gathered and spread a 
meager bough bed, the grim forest was almost inky 
black. Then came the question of supper. 

“Do you know boys, I don’t think we’d best eat 
much tonight,” Orlo declared, after the two packs, 
had been opened. 

“But why not,” demanded Levi fretfully. “I’m 
’most starved.” 

“I can’t help that,” Orlo answered, almost stern- 
ly. “All we’ve got is two slices of bear ham and 
a few biscuits. Half a slice is all we eat tonight, 
and only one biscuit apiece.” 

For a long moment Levi, less woodwise, stared 
at Orlo curiously, then as the real meaning of this 
precaution came to him, his lips quivered. “We 
ain’t goin’ to starve be we, Orlo !” he asked plain- 
tively. 

“Oh, no,” more buoyantly. “We can catch some 
fish tomorrow maybe ; I brought a line.” 

He was fast maturing in woodcraft and manly 
forethought. 

Something happened a few minutes later though, 
that put all thought of supper out of their minds. 
Orlo and Jim had climbed down into the gully to 
kneel and drink from the brook, and Levi tossed a 
spruce bough on the fire to make it flare up bright- 


287 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


ly, when, as the two beside the brook arose, from 
somewhere came a faint “hallo.” 

“Hear that?” questioned Orlo with a sudden 
heart leap. “Where was it from?” Then each 
held his breath the better to hear. In a moment 
and from up east of them came the same faint 
“hallo” but longer drawn. In an instant Orlo an- 
swered with all his lung power, then came back a 
double “hallo, hallo ” faint but distinct. 


CHAPTER XXV 

O H, that’s him, I know,” Orlo exclaimed rap- 
turously as the faint “hallo” came quaver- 
ing from far up the ravine. “And he’s up 
above here, too, on this brook.” 

“Ain’t that queer,” Jim whispered, still listen- 
ing carefully. Then once again a united “hallo” 
was returned. 

“But what we goin’ to do?” Jim asked, as they 
returned to the fire. 

“Why, go and find him,” Orlo answered reso- 
lutely. 

“But how?” from Jim, again looking into the 
wall of darkness surrounding them. 

“Why I dunno, but we got to anyway. He must 
be hurt. That’s what that blood meant. Or may- 
be” — after a moment’s thought — “he’s got a 
broken leg or sprained his ankle going over the 
bank. Maybe that’s what he cut the birches for, 
to make a crutch.” 

To Orlo, now thinking as a man, it seemed an 


289 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


imperative yet almost desperate thing to do, to 
go out into that inky blackness. 

And it was ! 

For a long moment he gave it thought, then an 
inspiration came. “We can peel birch bark and 
make torches,” he said, “and maybe he kept along 
the brook, so we can follow that.” 

It seemed possible to Jim now, and both set 
about peeling strips of bark. “We can make ’em 
burn longer by rolling ’em on dry sticks,” Jim next 
suggested, and this was done. 

When a good supply of those were ready, Orlo 
advised that Levi should remain at the fire 
to keep it going. But a sharp “I guess not, I 
wouldn’t stay here alone noways,” put an end to 
that. The packs were rolled up, each boy swal- 
lowed a few bites of raw ham and one biscuit, and 
then the start was made. 

It was a slow progress over a tangle of moss- 
coated stones with only the fitful light of one bark 
torch to guide them. These also burned out with 
alarming frequency. Now and then a barricade of 
tangled roots and brush was met, to be crawled 
over. At intervals of a few rods they would pause 
to hallo again and always to hear an encouraging 
answer, yet seemingly no nearer. To add discour- 
agement, their torches almost gave out, which 
necessitated a halt and a hunt for more white 


290 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


birches. For a time the way led up a steep bill 
down which the brook ran. Once they heard the 
now familiar yaoul not far away, and later, the 
more ominous bark of a wolf. A sharp turn in 
the stream brought an uplift in their feelings as a 
nearer answer was returned to their oft-repeated 
hallo. Only two more torches were left when a 
shout close by added speed to the tired searchers’ 
feet ; a faint glow of light was then seen and with 
a “hurrah” in concert, the happy boys saw Uncle 
Eenus squatting beside a tiny fire close by the 
little brook. 

Leaning against a rock back of him lay two rude 
crutches ! 

“Oh Lord, but Pm glad to see ye, boys !” was his 
greeting, as they rushed up to grasp his hands. 
“ ’N’ I’m proud o’ ye, too,” he added, with a choke 
in his voice. “I knowed ye’d start lookin’ fer me 
but didn’t dare hope ye’d find me till I saw a glow 
o’ light over in the woods ; then I crawled up back 
o’ here onto a big rock ’n’ got an answer to my 
holler.” 

“But what happened?” put in Orlo. 

“Oh, nuthin’ much,” he said, smiling. “Only a 
sprained ankle ’n’ a bumped nose so I bled like a 
stuck pig. I rigged up a couple o’ sticks to help 
out ’n’ started to go back to ye over the ridge.” 

“But when did it happen?” from Orlo. 


291 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Oh, this mornin’ ; only I was in such a hurry I 
fell over a bank, like a fool.” 

“But ain’t you ’most starved?” from Orlo again. 

“Not overmuch,” nonchalantly. “I killed ’n’ 
skinned a hedgehog ’n’ broiled a piece this noon 
’n’ ag’in ’bout dark. The only thing I worried 
’bout war that you boys ’ud git lost huntin’ fer me. 
That seemed most sartin. I warn’t worried much 
’bout myself, howsomever, long ez I had one 
workin’ leg. I knew I could fetch back in time. 

“Why, I’ve been wuss off many a time in win- 
ter, but no man need go hungry in the woods this 
time o’ year.” 

The boys felt like dancing around him for very 
joy. They made haste to build a more generous 
fire, and to construct a rude shelter; then, in re- 
sponse to their hero’s request, brought water in 
their hats to bathe his swaddled and swollen 
ankle. 

“’Tain’t so wuss, a sprained ankle ain’t,” he 
declared indifferently. “Jest keep it water-soaked 
a few days ’n’ gin it stiddy rest is all. You’ll hev 
to go fishin’ now on the lake a spell while I lay by.” 

It was well along towards midnight when Orlo 
propped the frying-pan over the fire with most of 
their bear ham in it, but the old man interposed : 
“Better fry some hedgehog meat with a trifle o’ 
salt ham to flavor it,” he advised. “You’ll find 


292 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


him under a stone in the brook. It’ll be a day or 
mebbe two Tore we git back to the canoe.” 

Little sleep was obtained that night, for the 
boys were too excited and wanted to hear more of 
their hero’s adventure. To him it seemed only an 
ordinary one, however. “What I figgered on war 
simple,” he concluded. “Only I war a fool not to 
’a’ follered the two trappers’ trail down the other 
outlet. I’d orter known they knew the best way 
out. My idee war, if the two streams didn’t come 
together we must take the south one, so I tried to 
save time. It’s alius best to go slow in the woods 
’n’ not guess at anything. One thing I feel safe 
in now. We ain’t headed fer Hudson Bay. But 
what I can’t line out is why no lumbermen ever 
got up here.” 

A daybreak start was made the next morning. 
By noon the birth of the brook was reached at 
a bubbling spring almost on top of the ridge, 
where a halt was made for more fried hedgehog 
and plenty of cool, sweet water; and the boys 
began to realize how little would satisfy hunger 
in the woods. 

“ ’Tain’t over-temptin’ vittles, fried hedgehog 
’n’ nothin’ else ain’t,” Old Renus smiled as he 
watched them munching it eagerly. “But I once 
went five days with nothin’ but raw frogs legs ’n’ 
brook suckers with wintergreen leaves ’n’ berries 

293 


f 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


to top off with till I war lucky ’nuff to kill a mus’- 
rat out sunnin’. You’d sartinly turn up your nose 
at raw mus’rat till ye got hungry ’nuff, then you’d 
eat it mighty thankful. I did, I know.” 

The distant rumble of the falls pouring into the 
lake was heard soon after the spring was left, and 
the way being down hill now, Old Renus limped 
on faster. But twilight was creeping over the 
placid sheet of water before the camp was reached. 
Then the boys gathered fuel, started a fire, and 
soon a meal, a glorious feast rather, was made 
ready and all of them, quite happy, gathered 
around the cheerful campfire to gorge on trout 
fried brown in bear fat, with toasted biscuit 
dipped in the fat, and coffee with condensed 
cream. It was a happy supper, long to be remem- 
bered. 

“To inj’y good things it’s needful to go hungry 
a spell,” Old Renus philosophized. “ ’N’ to be real 
happy ye hev to worry some fust. We’ve all had 
it two days, ’n’ fried hedgehog, wholesome ’nuff 
meat, however, will sarve to make trout go all the 
better.” 

A week’s stop had to be made here, “to git my 
leg in good workin’ order,” as Old Renus de- 
clared. It was also highly enjoyed by the boys, 
especially Orlo, to whom their protector delegated 
the task of shooting one of the tame deer in the 

294 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


neighborhood. Trout were so plentiful they could 
choose the small ones in the two streams, and half 
an hour before meals was sufficient time in which 
to provide an ample supply. The north outlet 
was followed by Orlo and Jim one day to find 
smooth-running water in a quarter of a mile. A 
big bear gave them a good fright on the way back. 
The yellow-eyed prowlers made themselves heard 
nightly but were quite ignored now, and the boys 
were almost sorry to pack and start on their out- 
bound trip again. It was with less worry that 
they turned away from the lake, for it seemed that 
their southward course was assured, and after a 
short carry, they reached a broad, two-foot deep 
stream, which sped over beds of swaying water 
grass and stretches of white sandy bottom for 
many miles, until from the north a smaller tribu- 
tary entered. Just below the junction came a long 
carry, the first one since leaving the lake many 
hours before, and, drawing out their canoe, Old 
Eenus was surprised and delighted to see four 
plainly outlined tracks in the sand. 

“Hullo,” he said, elated. “We got company on 
ahead ’n’ it seems good to see tracks so lately made 
once more, arter nine months. One man wore moc- 
casins ’n’ tother war a bigger man. Should say 
one war a small feller ’n’ the other an Injun. 

“It can’t be more’n a day since they carried by 


295 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


here, either,” he added, examining another foot- 
print where young grass had been trodden upon. 
“Wish we could ketch up to ’em and find whar 
we are.” 

These newly made tracks of human beings 
brought a strange thrill to the boys and it seemed 
as if they were back in the world again. They 
studied them with keen interest and with the same 
hope that Old Renus had. It was almost sunset 
when the foot of the long rapids was reached and 
camp for the night made. There, again, was more 
evidence of human kind in the recently charred 
embers of a fire and a fresh-bough bed left by the 
outgoing travelers. 

“They wan’t lumberjacks, so they must ’a’ bin 
trappers,” Old Renus asserted, after looking this 
camp site over. “ ’N’ they broiled fresh deer meat 
V had hard-tack ’n’ coffee fer breakfast,” he 
added, picking up a forked stick and sni ffin g at it. 

“But how can you tell?” queried Orlo, to whom 
this peculiar wood lore was a mystery. 

“Oh, easy ’nuff. Fust we ain’t seen a stranded 
log or sign o’ a tote road ’bove here ’n’ no spike 
marks in any tracks. This prop-stick smells o’ 
cooked venison ’n’ thar’s crumbs o’ hard-tack ’n’ 
coffee grounds. ’N’ they cooked twice here I know 
by the ’mount o’ ashes. I’d gin a good deal to 
ketch up with ’em.” 


296 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Their tent was set up and then Old Renus, 
noticing a foam-flecked eddy just below the last 
rapid, made an interesting suggestion. “Thar’s 
a nice spot fer trout, boys,” he said, nodding 
towards it. “Ye might cut ’n’ rig a couple o’ poles 
’n’ ketch some for supper ’n’ we’ll hev some b’ar 
meat, too.” 

Jim and Levi did so, using a bit of bear pork for 
bait, and soon caught a goodly mess, for the pool 
was alive with the fish. 

“I’d like to come onto a left-back log now,” said 
Old Renus, filling a frying-pan with trout and 
then glancing down the broad stream. “Now ’n’ 
then I’m most sartin we’re headed for the St. 
Lawrence, ’n’ then ag’in I ain’t. I’d like to see a 
stray log most o’ all. Some signs o’ lumberin’ ’ud 
look good to me now. I think we’d best push on 
fast ’n’ ketch up with these two trappers. What 
makes me think we are where I fear, is the sun 
risin’ so ’arly. ’Bout three o’clock ’cordin’ to your 
watch, Orlo.” 

An early start was made the next morning, and 
by mid-forenoon another short carry around a 
leaping fall was reached and here the trail made 
a wide detour around a jagged ledge then down 
through a primal growth of monster trees. Here 
the fresh tracks of the two trappers were so dis- 
tinctly outlined in the soft carpet of moss and 


20 


297 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


spruce needles that Old Renns halted to examine 
them carefully. 

“They're earryin’ a big load,” he declared after 
scrutinizing what appeared to be the trail of a 
half-dozen men, “’n’ had to make three trips to 
carry by. That means they must hev a big ketch 
o' furs. Some tracks are sunk deeper’n others, 
too, ’n’ that says the packs are heaver’n the canoe. 
If we come to a long carry, we’re like to ketch up.” 
So anxious was he, that when this one was made, 
he shoved their canoe in and pushed off as if each 
moment counted. He wielded his paddle as if rac- 
ing down the broad, slow-running stream, and 
when noon came no halt to cook was made, but 
Orlo cut slices of smoked venison to pass around 
for a lunch while on they went. By this time the 
sun had vanished in blue-black clouds, and com- 
ing upon a broad swamp through which the stream 
wound dark and sullen, a snow-squall suddenly 
swept over the green wilderness and Old Renus 
had to stop for he was unable to see his course, 
and so white was the air with those thick-falling 
flakes that he pushed into a lagoon and sought 
the shelter of an overhang of broad-branched 
firs. 

“Queer streak o’ weather, ain’t it, boysf’ he 
asked, shaking the snow from his broad hat and 
coat and lighting his pipe. “ ’N’ it looks like we 


298 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


war purty well up in the world, too. Snow-squalls 
don't start so quick in the lowlands.” 

Just then, and seemingly not over half a mile 
away, came the sharp report of a rifle followed 
by two more in quick succession. 

“Good Lord,” gasped Orlo. “Who's that?” 

“Oh, them trappers,” nodded Old Renus, smil- 
ing wisely. “ 'N' it sounds good to me. I knowed 
we wan't far behind 'em when we made that last 
carry. I think now they war thar jest a day 
ahead o' us.” 

“But what were they shooting?” came next from 
Jim, to whom these shots were like sounds from 
another world. 

“A deer, most likely, they come onto in this fog 
o’ snow,” said the old hunter nonchalantly. “ 'N' 
if 'twould only let up we'd push on 'n' mebbe ketch 
’em tonight. I'd gin a good deal to do it ; I tell ye, 
boys, most anything human 'ud look good to me 
now.” 

“And me, too,” coincided Orlo. “I'd think even 
a black man was handsome now.” 

That unwelcome snow-squall lasted for an hour 
longer; and when Old Renus resumed his paddle, 
and finally by calculation and a few mistakes, 
located the main stream and escaped the somber 
swamp, nightfall had come and camp had to be 
made. It was a cheerless, gloomy spot, with a 


299 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


canopy of dense green boughs above and long 
tufts of weird gray moss depending from them. 
The soil was damp and soggy, a six-inch coat of 
rotting mould, moss and fir needles covering it; 
boughs for a bed were hard to find and by the time 
a few had been secured, the tent set up and fire 
started, an inky blackness enclosed the one consol- 
ing glow of light. 

“Got caught in a bad spot, didn’t we, boys?” Old 
Renus said, cheerfully, as was his wont. “But it 
might ’a’ bin wuss. If we’d bin kept in that swamp 
an hour longer we’d ’a’ had to slept in the canoe. 
I got caught that way once ’n’ some raw venison 
’n’ hard-tack war all I had to eat till mornin’. That 
war one time a little salt went a good ways, I tell 
ye.” 

Their supper here was no banquet, either, for 
fried bear ham, dry rice biscuit and black coffee 
comprised it. But they had keen hunger for sauce 
and by this time the brave boys had become recon- 
ciled to almost any kind of food. This was at least 
far more palatable than their first wildwood 
meals. The time, place and situation were depress- 
ing, however. The campfire burned sulkily. To 
sit around it in comfort was impossible, and in 
spite of his unfailing optimism, Old Renus found 
it hard to cheer his disconsolate boys. They, how- 
ever, more tired than usual from two carries and 


300 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


steady paddling all day, soon turned in, leaving 
Old Renus to freshen the fire and follow later. He 
added the fuel, cut a few boughs to spread his 
blanket upon, lit his pipe again and sat down to 
think, for the fact was the problem of their situa- 
tion troubled him. He had brought along all the 
stores he could, enough to last about three weeks. 
To have brought more meant leaving valuable 
furs ; but what really concerned him was that he 
did not know where they were. 

After descending a stream that had grown to a 
small river from many tributaries, he had failed 
to find any signs of lumbering operations, yet 
miles upon miles of the finest growing timber was 
standing beside a stream big and broad enough to 
carry it to the worlds marts. The only conclu- 
sion was that they were on their way to Hudson 
Bay. 

The fire burned lower. The black enclosing wall 
of darkness drew nearer. From somewhere to 
eastward of the swamp came the mournful howl of 
a wolf peculiar to the mating season. Once, 
twice, thrice, it quavered through the night, to be 
answered by the same call from the westward. 

“Curi’s, mighty curi’s, V I can’t understand it, 
how wide apart in some ways ’n’ how clus in others 
brutes V humans is,” Old Renus mused, poking 
the last of the embers together. “Each hez the 

SOI 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


same heart call, but a wolf ’ll tear his mate to 
pieces ’n’ eat her a month arter with a relish, 
while a human, the true blue sort ’ll carry his 
longin’ through life. ’N’ the only comfort he’ll 
find is doin’ suthin’ fer the one he longs fer. It’s 
a queer riddle, this thing is, ’n’ I can’t answer it.” 

He listened, while the low crackle of the fire 
died away, leaving the faint gurgle of the nearby 
stream the only sound ; then, again, came the wolf 
call and the answer from afar. 

“God gin it to us both, this love longing’ ’n’ I 
s’pose He did what war best,” Old Renus added 
rising. “But it wouldn’t ’a’ done harm if He’d 
spread it a little more even.” Then he sighed and 
crept carefully into the tent. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

L IFE is much like a canoe journey down- 
stream and out of a wilderness, both in 
swiftness and fortune. For ten days the 
May sunshine and good luck cheered the cast- 
aways as they journeyed along, but on the next an 
unwelcome snowsquall marooned them in a som- 
ber swamp forest, and the bit of ill luck spoiled 
the sunshine for that day. The stream from this 
point turned sharply southward. A short carry 
was reached a mile onward, and in the middle of 
this and overlooking a picturesque cascade, Orlo 
and Old Renus came upon the embers of a camp- 
fire still smoking. And so startling was it that the 
canoe was lowered in an instant, and both stared 
at that faint column of smoke with intensive 
eagerness; it was almost as thrilling as the foot- 
print in the sand was to Crusoe. 

“They've got 'bout five hours the start o' us,” 
Old Renus said disconsolately, glancing up at the 
sun. “ ’N’ that dern squall jest got us left. If it 


303 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


hadn’t shut ns in the swamp, we’d ’a’ ketched ’em 
here. It’s dern hard luck.” 

“Why, there’s part of a deer they left,” Jim 
exclaimed excitedly, as he came up to the open 
space on top of a ledge and dropped his pack. 
And sure enough, on a flat rock back of a stunted 
spruce, lay the fore-quarters of a deer with skin 
and head on. A bed of fir twigs in front of a rock 
ridge overlooking the falls showed where the men 
had slept under a canoe. A couple of big stones 
on either side of the smouldering fire, a wambeck 
bending over them, together with scraps of 
broiled venison, proved how these two unknown 
ones had feasted here a few hours before. 

“They fetched this spot ’bout the time the 
squall war thickest,” Old Renus asserted, looking 
around the flat-topped, grass-grown ledge, “ ’n’ 
come onto a deer jest handy ’n’ shot him off-hand. 
’Twas them we heard. Nice spot to camp, too,” he 
added, glancing down at the leaping cascades, 
above which rose a column of mist that flashed 
rainbow tints from the morning sun. “ ’N’ we 
might ’a’ had broiled venison with ’em, too, if that 
pesky squall hadn’t ketched us in the swamp. 
We’ll take what they left, anyhow.” Then he made 
haste to skin the two forequarters and wrap them 
in a piece of silk. 

“I think we kin ketch ’em, howsomever,” he de- 


804 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


dared, now hurrying down the ledge to the stream 
again. And so anxious was he that he did not 
wait to repack their belongings properly, but 
pitched them into the canoe and pushed off 
speedily. 

“’N’ we’re headed south, too,” he added with 
elation, and swinging into the swift current again. 
“ ’N’ if the next carry’s only a long one, we’re sure 
o’ ketchin’ up to company. I’d gin a good deal 
to do it ’n’ find whar we are for sure.” 

From here onward the stream was just right 
for canoeing, for it was narrow and deep, and 
swept on mile after mile in long curves through 
an open forest and had scarcely a rock in its swift 
current. The sun smiled down into it. Purling 
rills added music and foam flecks, and while the 
boys paddled eagerly, so swiftly did the moss-clad 
or grass-grown banks slip backwards that all 
Old Renus could do was steer. 

“Goin’ some, ain’t we, boys?” he said, smilingly, 
after two hours of this delightful canoeing had 
passed and they came to a reach of still water. 
“It’s cloudin’ up ’n’ feels like rain, howsomever, 
’n’ I cal’late we best keep on till it does. We may 
ketch up to our trappers by then.” 

The reach of slack water soon merged into a 
narrow lakelet and Orlo, in the bow, watched 
eagerly ahead to catch the first sight of the two 


305 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


they were pursuing. But it was evidently a stem 
chase. 

The stream broadened out beyond this lakelet to 
a shallow, swift-running river with small rocks 
jutting up that either fretted the current or 
peeped out of it. A dangerous course for a heav- 
ily laden canoe as Old Renus knew the instant they 
neared it. 

“Watch out fer rocks ’n’ stop paddling boys,” he 
directed, grasping his setting pole and standing 
up. “We got to go slow down this run,” and 
trained canoeist that he was he checked, held and 
swung his frail craft around, between or beside 
the rocks over which the stream swept in marvel- 
ous manner. A current ran like a mill sluice over 
the teeth-like rocks which were often so close 
together that passage for a canoe could only be 
found by swinging it from side to side across the 
stream. It was a fool thing to try, as Old Renus 
knew full well. But to land and carry by this half 
mile of shallow rapids, meant a delay of two 
hours, and he was in a desperate hurry. Time 
and again the canoe struck lightly as he held it 
by the setting pole and then pressed it back and 
let it swing away into deeper water, until this mad 
race was nearly run and the excited boys, ever 
watching for hidden rocks, began to breathe 
easier. The sky had grown inky black, however, 


306 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


and Old Penns, balancing himself like a tall aero- 
bat in that swaying canoe, could see no rocks ex- 
cept where water leaped over them. Then the 
stream dipped downward sharply and before he 
could help himself, the swift current caught the 
overladen craft sideways. He made a quick thrust 
with the setting pole to hold it back, but the pole’s 
steel point slipped over the smooth rock. The 
canoe struck midway, tearing a long, wide hole. 
And before even Old Eenus knew what happened, 
it was half full of water and the four had leaped 
out into the seething stream to grasp and hold it. 

Just then a pelting volley of mingled hail and 
rain came down. 

“Hang on, boys,” shouted Old Renus, and wad- 
ing hip-deep they managed to draw the canoe 
ashore. But they were in a sorry fix, for the bank 
was breast high and of soft clay. A dense tangle 
of scrub cedar and alders covered it, while, to add 
to their discomfort, the downpour became all hail. 

“This is ’bout the wust ever,” Old Renus 
growled, passing their belongings up to Orlo and 
Jim on the bank, while Levi held onto the half- 
filled canoe. “But it might ’a’ bin wuss,” he added, 
with his unfailing optimism a moment later. “We 
might ’a’ lost our stuff out when we tipped.” 

The canoe was next emptied and drawn out, and 
so sharp came the pelting hail that Old Renus 


$07 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


tipped tlie craft over and, thrusting its bow into 
a low cedar, they all squatted under it, drenched 
as they were, and glad of so much protection. 

“IPs all my fault, boys,” Old Renus said, forc- 
ing a smile. “ ’N’ all ’cause I war fool ’nuff to try 
’n’ run down that shallow rapids. But I wanted 
to ketch up with those trappers ’n’ took chances.” 

“But can we fix the canoe?” Orlo asked anx- 
iously, for he was thoroughly alarmed over their 
predicament. 

“Oh, yes ; but it’ll take a half day o’ sunshine to 
patch ’n’ dry it. We’ll git out o’ the scrape, some- 
how, boys, so cheer up. We got kicked by the 
devil’s own luck, but we ain’t goin’ to be downed 
nohow. Now ez it’s stopped hailin’ we better 
make camp ’fore dark comes.” 

It was a sorry spot and a bad time to clear a 
space on the hard soil, and set the tent up, for 
it rained in torrents, but after their outfit had 
been sheltered and a fire started, they grew more 
cheerful. Fortunately their coats of deerskin 
were not quite wet through. The silk bag had 
kept the biscuits fairly dry, and when Old Renus 
had some slices of venison broiling and the coffee 
pail hanging over the flames, the boys, watching 
out from the tent, began to smile. 

The rain stopped, and Old Renus heard a faint, 
steady, rumbling roar from far ahead. 

308 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“Purty big falls ahead o’ us,” he said, cocking 
his head to listen better. “ ’N’ o’ course a long 
carry. ’N’ them trappers are camped thar now. 
If we wan’t crippled, we’d ketch ’em by an ’arly 
start. We got to gin it up now, I guess.” 

But that evening, despite their water-soaked 
condition, was made an endurable one to the boys 
by the good spirits of Old Benus. “So long’s we’re 
healthy, got suthin’ to eat, ’n’ kin keep warm, we 
might ez well smile,” he said, after lighting his 
pipe and while they were all lying around the fire 
on blankets. 

“We hev a saddle o’ venison, thanks to good 
luck. We kin keep warm tonight ’n’ the sun’s goin’ 
to shine tomorrow, so what matters ? All ’n’ all, ez 
I said, we might be wuss off. A whole lot wuss.” 

Morning brought some consolation to the four 
wet and unlucky castaways, in warm sunshine, 
and after an enormous breakfast of delicious veni- 
son, Old Renus set about mending the canoe with 
patches of silk sewed inside and out with a thick 
coat of spruce gum around the borders of these. 
The gum needed time to harden, so it was noon 
before a start was made. 

“We’re nearin’ some big falls,” Old Renus de- 
clared as they once more embarked below the 
rapids and the rumbling roar they had heard, in- 
creased. It so proved, for a half hour later the 


309 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


stream opened into an oval lakelet at the far end 
of which a cataract’s mist rose above a high ledge 
barring the stream’s course, and keeping to the 
left and near the shore, Old Eenus landed well 
away from what looked like a big hole in the rock 
barriers and all four following along this came to 
a most unique freak of nature. A V-shaped open- 
ing in this jagged ledge was bridged over and 
through this opening the stream leaped into a 
seething cauldron full fifty feet below to escape 
among narrow, jutting rocks. 

And quite disconcerting to Old Eenus, the 
stream here turned almost due north! 

“This hole in the wall sorter clears up one thing 
to me,” he said, as they looked down into this 
abyss, a Titanic bowl, walled around on three 
sides. “I’ve wondered all ’long how it war no lum- 
berman ever come up our stream. Now I know. 
No logs could ever be got through that tangle o’ 
rocks. They’d only jam ’n’ fill up this bowl. 
Curi’s freak o’ nater, ain’t it!” 

It was the most romantic and picturesque bit 
of wild scenery the boys had ever seen, for the 
swollen stream leaped through this bridged-over 
fissure and poured into the pool below with a deaf- 
ening roar. A cloud of mist rose from it, floating 
away over a scrub-covered, moss-coated ledge 
around three sides. The scene was fearsome in 


310 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


a way, as well as grand, and even Old Renns sat 
spellbound in silence for a long ten minutes, watch- 
ing the foaming, seething chaos of yeasty water 
below. 

“Wal, we must be goin’, boys,” he said finally, 
glancing at the sun. “I’d kinder hoped we war 
headed south but it don’t look so now. Guess 
we’re p’inted fer Hudson Bay.” 

The carry around this wonderful cataract was 
a precipitous one. A climb up and down a sharp 
ledge with a half mile of tangled boulders beyond, 
and when the stream was reached, a fresh camp- 
site showed that the two trappers they were pur- 
suing were just a half day ahead. It was almost 
sunset by the time the carry was made, and they 
halted for the night. A weird, uncanny spot it 
was to camp in, for a high cliff abutted on the 
stream at this point. A lower one rose just across, 
while great patches of white foam formed a con- 
tinuous and ghostly procession down the dark 
running current. To add to the gloomy effect 
came the unceasing bellow of the cataract. Of all 
the camps they had made, this was the most cheer- 
less and gloomy in its surroundings. Old Renus 
seemed to feel its effects too. 

“I fear we’re in fer Hudson Bay, boys,” he said 
to them, after they had grouped around the camp- 
fire. “Things p’ints that way to me ag’in. ’N’ I 


Sll 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


guess it’ll come to jerked venison ’n’ fried trout 
’fore long. Our coffee, sich ez it is, ’n’ biscuits 
won’t last more’n a week more.” 

He was up and had a fire started by daylight the 
next morning (about three o’clock in this lati- 
tude) and had venison broiling by the time the 
boys crawled out. “I ain’t given up hopin’ to 
ketch them trappers,” he assured them, and they 
were equally anxious, for the moods of Old Eenus 
so dominated them that a cloud on his face 
brought worry. 

That day proved to be a most enjoyable one, for 
the river swept on in swift current through a 
splendid forest of larch and fir, without rocks, 
rapids or carries, and wielding paddles as they 
all did in their eagerness to get on, they made 
wonderful progress, and by midforenoon Old Re- 
nus spied an opening in the dark forest ahead. 
A bend from north to west and finally to the south 
in the river was next joyfully observed, and then 
before the boys realized what it meant, an opening 
in the pine growth freshly cut over showed on 
rounding a slight turn. 

In the middle of it stood a recently built lum- 
berman’s log cabin ! 

Old Renus gave a “Hooray, boys, thank God, 
we’re safe !” He made the canoe spring forward 
to the landing spot and leaped out in feverish 


312 


CAMP: CASTAWAY 


haste. He ran up the path to the deserted camp 
and looked anxiously around. 

“We’re all right, thank God!” he repeated, 
reaching for and shaking hands with Orlo and 
Jim, who had come up. “Hooray I say for our 
side ! In a week or less mebbe, we’ll be out o’ the 
woods. Hooray, I say!” 

There was cause for the old man’s joy, for this 
cabin and the freshly cut pine stumps proved to 
him that they were on the St. Lawrence watershed 
and in a few days must catch up with some out- 
going gang of log drivers. 

For a few moments this happy old woodsman 
halted to determine how much time had elapsed 
since this band of lumbermen had left, then he 
hurried the boys into the canoe and pushed on. 
Two days of downstream paddling with one short 
and one long carry to halt them followed. Now 
and then they saw a log stranded on rocks or high 
up on the bank; another cut-over stretch of tim- 
berland with its inevitable log cabin, was passed, 
and then, late one May afternoon Old Renus spied 
a column of smoke rising over the treetops ahead. 
Urging their canoe forward they rounded a bend, 
and there, perched on a bank, stood two white 
tents; a cheery campfire blazed in front and 
around it lay a group of lumberjacks ! 

The castaways had escaped from a pathless 


21 


313 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


wilderness and were in touch with humanity once 
more. 

The two batteaus drawn out on the bank added 
a feeling of safety to the boys’ surprised joy. The 
unkempt and unshaven men in red or gray shirts, 
who met them in smiling astonishment, looked 
good, and while they jabbered in an unknown 
tongue, the handshakes that greeted Old Renus 
and the prompt aid they gave in lifting the canoe 
out of water, all spelled welcome. Plates and cups 
were assigned to them at the lumbermen’s long 
table, and the hot pork and beans, hot biscuits and 
tea, tasted like home to the hungry boys. 

And so ended eight months battle with the vast, 
unknown wilderness. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

A WEEK later, three boys and a tall, lanky 
woodsman, clad in deerskin, with fur caps 
and much resembling Indians, landed at 
the smart little town of St. Maurice at the head of 
tidewater in the river of that name. 

Their first task was to find someone among the 
score of curious, chattering, smiling Canadian 
villagers, who could speak a little English. Next 
they located a fur dealer who bought a few of the 
pelts at a fair price, and then they sought a cloth- 
ing store and a barber shop, and engaged a double- 
bedded room at the village hotel. 

“Now Orlo,” Old Renus said, when so much of 
an entry into civilized life had been accomplished, 
“you must send a message home to your mother. 
Tell her we’re all safe ’n’ ’ll be home in ’bout a 
week. She ’n’ all you boys’ folks hez mourned ye 
fer dead ’bout long ’nuff.” 

“I’d like to be peekin’ when she gits the news,” 
he added, with a far-away look and smile, “ ’n’ see 


315 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


how she’ll go all to pieces ez she will. Mebbe she 
’n’ the rest o’ ye boys’ folks, won’t think I’m the 
worst vagabond in the world now.” 

That was the first time the boys ever heard him 
even hint that he knew what his standing was in 
Oakham. 

Orlo’s hand trembled when he wrote his brief 
message in the telegraph office and his eyes were 
wet, for now he had come to realize what life and 
death meant in this world. 

“Make it longer,” Old Renus advised, reading 
it, while his own eyes grew misty. “Tell her Jim 
’n’ Levi are fat ’n’ brown ez ye be. We needn’t 
skimp on cost now ’n’ your mother ’ll feel like 
kissin’ every word ye send.” 

This duty accomplished, the boys, led by Old 
Renus, strolled around this typical and pros- 
perous Canadian village and it looked good to 
them, with its bank, postoffice, imposing stores 
and the two churches with their massive gilt 
crosses at the apex of many spires. Gaily clad 
ladies and pretty girls moved about. It was, in 
fact, a new and marvelous wonder world, and it 
made Camp Castaway and their adventurous life 
there seem a weird dream from which they had 
just awakened. 

Their supper, at a table graced by white linen, 
bright silver and pretty china, was served by a 


316 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

smiling maid, to whom Old Renus gave their order 
by signs. 

“It sorter seems good to me to be back ’mongst 
humans once more even if we can’t parley voo 
their lingo,” Old Renus smiled, after their supper 
had been served. “ ’N’ they mean well, too. ’N’ 
I don’t think any on ’em ’ud rob us o’ a penny. But 
our cornin’ in that makeshift canoe ’n’ dressed ez 
we war, hez set the whole town talkin’. The feller 
I sold the pelts to war so curi’s, that I had to fib 
to head off his questions. We’ve set the hull town 
guessin’ ez it is ’n’ if I’d told that fur dealer the 
truth, the office o’ this hotel ’ud be full o’ folks 
wantin’ to peek at us. Mebbe ye noticed how we 
got stared* at on the street. 

“’N’ it’s funny too,” he added, chuckling, “to 
so set a whole townful jabberin’ ’bout ye. ’N’ yit 
I don’t wonder. To come here ez we did in sech a 
canoe would set any human sort guessin’ ten rods 
to the minute. But we’re goin’ to keep mum till 
we git away on the little steamer tomorrow. I 
hev my reasons for keepin’ whist.” 

That night in their beds, which were like mar- 
velous dreams of luxury, the boys were once more 
back at Camp Castaway living their wildwood life, 
that thrilling, romantic, and fearsome experience. 
They were glad to have gone through it, but not 
for even a train load of furs would they have re- 

317 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


turned to pass another winter in that stone hut. 

Their early dreams of living a wildwood life 
were now banished for all time. 

The trip down the St. Maurice the next day by 
steamer was eventless and yet joyous to the boys, 
now homeward bound. At Three Rivers, they 
boarded a palatial night steamer for Quebec, and 
when morning dawned, they were up and out gaz- 
ing at that quaint, embattled city, with its mag- 
nificent Chateau Frontenac, and at the awe-inspir- 
ing forts towering above them. Old Renus sought 
out a modest hostelry, and after putting his well 
beloved boys in charge of a carriage driver for a 
day of sight-seeing, betook himself to a fur dealer 
with whom he had once done business, and was 
astonished to find that the rest of the furs were 
worth over twelve hundred dollars ; then he went 
to the Province of Quebec land office, to locate the 
quarter section, or one sixteenth of a township, ho 
meant to buy. An expert draughtsman was 
secured ; the general course of the so-called “Mill- 
ing Falls” stream whose headwaters he wanted, 
was drawn in minor detail, and two copies were 
made. And when all the rules necessary for an 
alien to observe had been complied with, the 
proper documents signed, and three hundred dol- 
lars in lawful money paid down, Old Renus left 
the grim stone building, the satisfied owner of the 


318 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


mine, and four square miles of unexplored land 
around it. 

It was mid-afternoon when he finished this busi- 
ness, and so cleverly had he managed it, that no 
clerk in the office had even a suspicion that this 
tall, lanky trapper from Oakham, U. S. A., wanted 
this land for any other purpose than to hunt or 
trap upon when he chose. Old Eenus made his will, 
and a deed was executed by which this recent pur- 
chase was’made over to Orlo’s mother, to be held 
in trust by her for the boy. Then the three happy 
boys and the old trapper started for Oakham. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

O AKHAM was as calm as usual on that June 
afternoon when Old Renus, rifle in hand, 
and the three boys alighted from the after- 
noon train at Tolland and were greeted by the 
astonished Lem Bisbee — the Oakham stage driver 
— as from another world. He made haste to tele- 
phone Phinney s store in Oakham of their arrival, 
and two hours later, when the ancient stagecoach 
halted at that village mart, Jim’s parents, together 
with fully one hundred men, women and children 
were awaiting it. A prolonged cheer greeted the 
arriving ones. Jim’s mother embraced her boys 
with frantic kisses and tears. Orlo’s sister met 
him with the same excited welcome. A score of 
men next seized all three boys to carry them home 
on their shoulders. The crowd followed eagerly 
jabbering their comments, while Old Renus, glad 
to be ignored, darted into the store to buy a 
few needful things, and then escaped by the back 
door. 


320 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


It was a reception and ovation to the boys the 
like of which Oakham had never seen before. 

The old man was glad enough to get away so 
easily, for he hated scenes. He almost ran across 
lots to his old rookery, which he found in bad con- 
dition. The garden was full of weeds, and the 
path to the door was half-hidden by them. The 
two oval panes over the door seemed to glower at 
him, and on entering the room a pair of disturbed 
bats flew about excitedly. The warped floor was 
half -covered with dead leaves. A creeping vine, 
yellow-leaved, had made its way inward over a 
rotting sill. The fireplace was banked with soot 
and growing toadstools, and his tin dishes on a 
table, rusty and dust-coated. 

“Kinder like an old tomb in here,” he muttered, 
glancing around and smiling grimly. “But I ain’t 
no dead man yit by a jugful !” 

He made haste to sweep and clean out the room 
and kill the bats with the broom, determined to 
rise above the depressing home-coming. His op- 
timism was not all due to his will power, but to 
something far deeper. He knew that at this mo- 
ment the boys were telling their wonderful story. 
That it would lose nothing in their telling, he was 
sure, and he was equally certain that they had not 
forgotten Uncle Benus. 

“Wal bless ye, boys,” he said to himself while 


321 


CAMP, CASTAWAY 


lie kindled a fire. “Ye ain’t got to worry no more 
now. ’N’ ye’re goin’ to think o’ Old Renus long ez 
ye live ez suthin’ more ’n’ an old vagabond. Like- 
wise miss him when he’s under sod. ’N’ mebbe the 
folks here, one on ’em anyway, ’ll sorter miss him 
too.” 

He next began his poor home adjustments; he 
carried mildewed blankets out to spread on the 
grass for a needed airing; heated water; washed 
and scrubbed his rusty tin ware to be ready to cook 
a meal later. He was in no hurry ; for the excite- 
ment had checked his hunger as the coming 
twilight did his buoyant spirits. For ten months 
he had not eaten a meal without his well beloved 
boys, and he missed them cruelly. 

“There’s no use in tryin’ to live here now,” he 
said to himself, sighing. “They ain’t mine, they 
can’t be mine ’n’ thar ain’t but one thing left fer 
me.” He sighed again and set about his cooking. 

Just then as if to refute his mood, the boys came 
trooping in, each bearing a basket or a package 
wrapped in a napkin. 

“You didn’t think we’d forget you Uncle Renus,” 
Orlo exclaimed excitedly as they spread an ample 
supply of food on the table. 

“Oh, no, not easy,” smiled the old man. “Only 
I thought ye orter stay home tonight anyway. To 
hev come ’round in the mornin’ war all I ’spected.” 


322 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


“And so we shall, too,” Orlo went on. “Mother 
said she was sorry she hadn’t anything better than 
cold ham and a pie to send yon. She’s going to 
roast a chicken and send it for yonr dinner. And 
you are invited to onr house for supper. Jim’s 
folks and a lot of the neighbors are to be there in 
the evening to hear you tell about everything. 
They are all so anxious.” 

“Wal it’s good o’ your mother Orlo ’n’ all your 
folks ’n’ I thank ’em all fer these things. But — 
wal I jest can’t come ez yer mother wishes, Orlo. 
Tell her I thank her but I ain’t no clothes fit to see 
her in. ’N’ you boys kin tell all I could a good real 
better.” 

“But mother said to tell you you must come,” 
Orlo urged. Then with a laugh, “we boys will 
come and fetch you if you don’t. Clothes don’t 
matter. It’s you they want to see.” 

“Wal mebbe,” Old Renus parried, as the excited 
boys scampered away again. 

But a deeper gloom settled upon Old Renus now 
face to face with his own situation. 

For a long moment he looked at the dainty food 
upon his table. The pie, a loaf of cake, and an- 
other of bread, were each wrapped in a snowy nap- 
kin with an embroidered “U” in one corner. Other 
goodies were packed as if for a picnic. With all 
these came a vision of a neat pantry odorous of 


323 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


cinnamon, cloves and summer savory. A dining- 
table with a white spread, set with pretty china 
and shining silver. And that home picture so 
sharply contrasting with his own wretched one, 
was like a blow. Truly no one wanted him but the 
three boys, and he had no claim on them ; he had 
felt at times that they were half -ashamed of him, 
and he was afraid they would become more so as 
they grew older, until perhaps, as young men they 
would ignore him entirely, and he would be left to 
fish and hunt alone. His great affection for them 
made him certain that to have only occasional and 
chance hours with them meant desolation for him, 
and that to remain here longer would be impos- 
sible. 

The June evening twilight grew shadowy. One 
by one the fireflies twinkled over a meadow while 
Old Renus on his porch steps watched them. A low 
murmur of running water came with the odor of 
syringas close by. A whip-poor-will called from 
beyond the brook but the thoughts of the man 
sitting there were far away in a long-ago past and 
in another and vine-shaded porch. 

How long he sat amid bygones he knew not, 
when Orlo, walking slowly, came up the grass- 
grown path. 

“Why Orlo, what’s the matter?” asked Old 
Renus waking from his reverie. 


324 , 


CAMP CASTAWAY 

“Oh nothing,” was the eager answer. “Only I 
couldn’t go to bed till I came and told you some- 
thing good. Jim’s folks have been over all the 
evening talking about you and — it’s a secret you 
know— but you ain’t going to live in this old house 
only a little longer. Jim’s father, he feels so grate- 
ful to you he’s going to — but I mustn’t tell any 
more now. Only let you guess the rest. Mother 
is to help too and it’s to be a great surprise to 
you.” 

“Ye didn’t tell her ’bout the mine yet, did ye 
Orlo f ” anxiously. 

“No, but please can’t I tonight? That is what 
I came to ask you.” 

“No Orlo, no not yet,” as one chubby hand crept 
into his. “Wait a couple o’ days ’n’ then ye kin tell 
her.” 

The fireflies kept twinkling. A night hawk high 
overhead peeped sharply. A frog croaked dismal- 
ly as a young hand began stroking a wrinkled one. 

After a long five minutes of this old and young 
heart exchange, the boy whispered, “Uncle Renus 
won’t you please tell her yourself? You — you 
ought to tell her, I think, not me.” 

“No boy, no, I couldn’t, fer fer reasons.” 

Once more there was silence while a rounded 
cheek lay pressed against an older arm. Then 
suddenly as if feeling his resolution waning Old 


325 


CAMP CASTAWAY 


Benus spoke again. “Better run home now, Orlo,” 
he said. “It’s gittin’ late.” 

“But you will come tomorrow night!” pleading- 
ly. “Mother said I must make you promise.” 

“Wal I — PH see.” 

But the eyes of one saw the other vanish in a 
mist of tears. 

When Orlo, loyal to his old hero, came again he 
found the house deserted, for that benign friend 
and philosopher, that strange recluse, had depart- 
ed as mysteriously as he came. On his table upon 
a cluster of wilted syringa blossoms, lay a long 
envelope directed : 


To Orlo, Jim and Levi, 

with love, from 
Old Benus. 

And in the lower left corner. 

Mebbe some day you will find me at Camp Cast- 
away. 

The Wilderness had called him home. 


W me 


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